


Gold Rings and Green Woods

by Arinariel



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Forgiveness, Friendship and Enmity, Gen, Guilt & Remorse, Political Intrigue, Redemption, Romance, Tragedy, Unrequited Love, joy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinariel/pseuds/Arinariel
Summary: Part 2 of What It Means to be a King:In the cold cave of Forochel, Sauron rises again. Using his prior experience with the Elves, Sauron seduces Celebrimbor to make the Rings of Power. And in the east of the Misty Mountains, Thranduil returns to his father and relearns the meaning of joy, unaware that  Sauron never forgets nor forgives.
Relationships: Celeborn/Galadriel | Artanis, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Galadriel | Artanis, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Narvi, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Sauron | Mairon, Elrond Peredhel & Thranduil, Glorfindel (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s), Sauron | Mairon/Original Female Character(s), Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 335
Kudos: 119





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 2 of What It Means to be a King. It picks up the story about 400 years after the events in the Part 1. In order to understand the motivations of the characters, it is highly recommended that you read Part 1 before proceeding with Gold Rings and Green Woods.

**Forochel. September 20, SA 541.**

The darkness was thick and still, the air sharp and chill. A spark burst into a flame. And that flame blazed into an inferno, staining everything red, devouring everything within the stone chamber. The ground trembled, and the walls shook.

A song of terrible beauty rose within the swirling flames. Then, with a deafening creak, the stone wall groaned open.

_Hear my words! Come forth and devour, for I have come amongst you once again._

The snow-covered mountain shook as a great clamor rang through the cold plains of Forochel and shook the darkness awake.

**Halls of Mandos. Same Day.**

**NÁMO** looked up as two spheres of light, shimmering like twin stars, visible and yet not so, appeared before him. The Lord of the Halls of Waiting ignored them and went back to the soul in his hand.

It was a curious one as spirits go. Such a fierce desire it had, it intrigued Námo. 

The twin lights before him flashed, this time chiming. A tinkle of metallic melody reverberated through the silence of Námo’s halls. The Lord of Mandos looked up again.

No one disturbed him in this vast, whispering halls when he was at work. That is, no one would dare. But these two were not just anyone.

Námo knew ignoring them would not make them go away. With a resigned flip of his hand, Námo opened his domain to these esteemed intruders.

The spheres shimmered, a light among the swirling gray mists of the hall. One of the spheres took a form in the likeness of a Firstborn, but greater in majesty and piercing in beauty. A fragrant wind whispered through the halls.

The other sphere sparkled and swept the wide halls before floating among the other’s luscious silver waves of hair that reached all the way to the floor.

Námo rose up from his throne as the figure now clad in the raiment of clouds and wind smiled brilliantly, filling the dark, silent hall with silvery light. It was fortunate Manwë was not as bright as Varda. Námo bowed gratefully to the formless, gentle shimmer Varda took as she settled amongst Manwë’s hair. She was always thoughtful like that.

“Will thou intervene?” Námo stepped down to the floor to stand before Manwë.

“Do not frown so, Námo. Varda and I came for thy council.” Manwë smiled like the moon whose rays dimmed within the misty hall. “Ulmo also wishes to attend,” Manwë said with a pleading grin.

This was Námo’s domain. Beside him, no one except Eru Illúvatar had power over this place. None but He could enter here without Námo’s consent.

Námo did only but think it and the floor of luminous sheen made of dark stone glistened as water sprouted in the middle of the vast hall as if a spring gurgles out of rocks. What started as a trickle rose into a tower of water and in its midst stood a figure like a depth of the ocean, his silver-green mail glimmering from Manwë's pale light.

“Ulmo.” Námo nodded to the Vala of Waters.

He disliked the intrusion, and the three Valar knew that well. But if they are here instead of meeting at Māχananaškād, they had a need for secrecy and his halls were the most secure place in all of Arda. Nothing entered or took leave of Mandos without Námo’s knowledge.

“Will Aulë and Yavanna join us as well?”

“No,” Varda’s shimmering voice said. “He is still a sensitive topic for those two. When we must act, then we will consult them. But that time is not now.”

“Haven’t we done enough interfering?” Námo said as he folded his hand over the soul that flickered in his hand.

“Why had not Eonwe brought him hither when he had the chance?” Ulmo’s water swished.

Manwë let out a long sigh.

 _He had been among the Elves too_ _long_ , mused Námo. Manwë was beginning to act like the Firstborns.

“He is one of us even if his power is diminished,” said Manwë. “His will is his own just as it was Eonwe’s will to let Mairon go.”

“But, thou knowest what will come.” Ulmo said.

Manwë nodded. “The One has faith in his children. Maybe we should, too. Perhaps, we have intervened where we should not have.”

“Then Melkor would have ruled over the Arda now. Great was the loss, but regrets, I have not,” said Ulmo. “Had I not told thee that we should leave them alone from the beginning? But, meddled, we have, and muddled, we did.”

“So it was doomed,” Námo said.

“Should we stop now? Is it His will that they perish in anguish?” Ulmo’s water swirled about him. “They have just started to live in peace. Are they to suffer again? Now in the hands of Melkor’s servant? Our problem Mairon was, and still is, the one we should have addressed before he left here to join Melkor. And failing that, we should have addressed at the last war.”

“The choice was his. That was his right.” Manwë tilted his head, looking like the Firstborn again.

“Yes, choosing who to follow was his right, but leaving the way he did, that was not.” Ulmo’s water made a strange popping sound, making Námo look up. The waters about Ulmo’s feet boiled.

“Now, now, Ulmo, do not stir thyself. I have not decided. It is not for us to meddle again now. I will not have another destruction of Arda.” Manwë waived his hands as if to calm the stormy sea with his gentle winds.

“I heard enough suffering and sorrow, those we caused by what we did at Beleriand.” Varda shimmered and pulsed atop Manwë, her golden light burnishing the silver hair of the Lord of the West. “I heard cries of dismay and despair throughout the Middle-earth, even from the far corners of the east when the Beleriand sank.” Her light pulsed again.

“Now, now, dearest,” Manwë said, but turned to Námo. “What Varda had heard, I have seen. I will not have that again.”

“So, will thou abandon them now, after all we had done? Was that all for nothing?” The waters about Ulmo’s feet churned.

“The last war was but a moment ago. Sending another force is out of the question.” Manwë’s words were soft, but there was a finality to them.

Námo looked down at his palm. Perhaps there was a reason this soul had garnered his attention just before they arrived. The One had a tendency to gently steer rather than command.

“What do you have there?” Manwë asked and met Námo’s eyes when he picked up his head.

“One who yearns to return to the Middle-earth.” The Lord of the Hall of Waiting opened his palm to show the flickering fëa.

Manwë glanced at the small flame then nodded. “He wishes to return to Arda? I had not known that there were any who wished to do so.”

“Most do not. The mortal lands are filled with sorrow. But this one, he feels he had not completed his duty, and though he guards his heart, there is a memory of someone who beckons to him from the mortal lands,” Námo said. “And he clings to the memory, both the pain and the joy, and refuses to let it go.”

“Some Elves are stubborn like that.” Manwë smiled his piercing blue eyes tearing up.

 _Too much like the Eldar._ The look in Manwë’s eyes was almost like those of the Elves who had recently arrived at his halls from the Middle-earth.

“Perhaps we could send him back.” Manwë said as he took a step closer to scrutinize the flickering soul.

Námo lowered his voice to a whisper. “Thou knowest that is not possible.” Námo feared Manwë would suggest it. And even though all Valar knew it, Námo said it to remind them. “The ones who come to my halls are forbidden to leave these shores.”

And even if it was allowed, most did not wish it. Most chose to forget and live content in Aman, forgetting the troubles of the mortal lands. Of course, as with all things, there were exceptions, just like this little fëa.

“Is it not wrong to hold back the information of the one he seeks?” Varda pulsed as she flew around the fëa.

“It is not within his right to know,” Námo said.

“Firstborns may share our immortality, but they are still bound to the rules set for the children. The memories of their stay in Mandos are removed once they leave.” Manwë reminded Varda. “We could send him back as our emissary,” said Manwë as he turned to Námo. “Surely you can make an exception for that. It is within your power.”

“He is one Elf. What can he do?” Ulmo frowned as he gazed at the small soul.

“Now is not the time for us to show our strength,” Varda said.

“Sometimes, it only takes one to make a difference.” Manwë smiled. “Yes. He may not be the one, but for now, he will do. He will go to the mortal lands and judge for us as to when and what kind of help is needed. Patience and prudence are what we need at the moment, and I see this one has those in abundance.”

Ulmo shook his head, and the waters about his feet swished over the marble floors. “How much longer do the children must suffer?”

“The children must learn to stand on their own,” Varda said. “The rocks on the path may hinder one’s passage, but they also add to the beauty of the place and the wisdom of the traveler.”

“We have been thinking this all wrong, Ulmo. I agree with Varda. No matter how painful it is for us to just watch, we must allow the children to fight their own battles. With Melkor they had no chance, but Mairon, in his diminished form, a chance exists if they come together. If they stand together. We must give them the chance to do so. We cannot prevent their loss. Our past showed us that. And if they are to suffer loss again, then that suffering must have meaning. If we are to assist, it must be with a light hand.” Manwë turned to Námo. “Once the soul is cleansed and rested, we’ll meet again. With both Aulë and Yavanna in attendance. We will decide then when to send him.”

“So it must be.” Námo closed his hand over the soul.

\----

 **Námo** ( _Quenya._ Judge or Ordainer)—Doomsman of the Valar. He is the Lord of Mandos, the Halls of Awaiting. Often known by his dwelling place, Mandos, Namo is the keeper of the spirits of those who are slain. Along with his brother, Irmo, aka Lorien, he and his brother are called Fëanuri, Masters of Spirits. It is said that Namo knows and remembers nearly all things that were and shall be.

 **Manwë** ( _Quenya._ Blessed One)—King of the Valar, ruler of the airs and wind. Eagles are his messengers.

 **Varda** ( _Quenya._ Sublime)—Queen of the Valar, wife of Manwe. Known also as Elentari in Quenya and Elbereth in Sindarin(Star Queen), Gilthoniel, Starkindler in Sindarin. In preparation of the arrival of the Elves, Varda made the stars which were the first things they saw when Elves awoke in the Middle-earth. She is most beloved by the Elves for this reason.

 **Ulmo** ( _Quenya._ Pourer)—Lord of the Waters and the King of the Seas. Along with Manwë and Aulë, Ulmo is one of the three primary architects of Earth. During the First Age, he was the most active in helping the children of Eru in the war against Melkor.

 **Māχananaškād** ( _Valarin_. Ring of Doom)--hall where the thrones of Valar are arranged in a circle. From here, they held council and rendered judgement. Mahanaxar or Rithil-Anamo in Quenya.

 **Aulë** ( _Quenya_. Invention)—Smith of the Valar. He governs the substance of the world such as rocks, mountains and land. He is the master of all kinds of crafts and enjoyed inventing new things. He also created Dwarves(given life by Eru), impatient for the arrival of Eru’s children. He is most like Melkor, but unlike him, Aulë submitted to Eru’s will and was never jealous of other’s creations. Mairon (Sauron) used to be Aulë’s Maia before Melkor seduced him away from Aulë.

 **Yavanna** ( _Quenya_. Giver of Fruits)—Queen of Earth, wife of Aule, she ruled over all things that grow in the earth from trees to the flowers. Her song, with the aid of Nienna’s tears, created the Two Trees of Valinor that provided light after Melkor destroyed the lamps. Melian, the Maiarian Queen of Doriath, was her kin.

 **Fëa** ( _Quenya_. Soul or spirit)—Plural form is Fëar. All incarnate creatures such as Elves and Men have souls which were given by Eru. They were indestructible and cannot be dominated unless a consent is given by its owner. This is why Orcs, created by Melkor, do not have a will of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This took some time because this story has a rather large jump in time, not once but three times. I didn't want to break this piece into three separate parts so I thought of weaving them together to start at the same time (somewhat like in Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell) but I feared I was not skilled enough to pull that off. So, I am just going to write/post as I go with regards to the first part of the story as it is more akin to a really long prologue.


	2. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old pain resurfaces as well as the voice that calls for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized as I edit this second chapter that you will need to know the events of the Part 1 to really appreciate the dynamics of the relationships among the characters. If you wish to understand the details, I recommend reading the Part 1, What It Means to be a King, first. Thank you.

**Forest outside East Fort. March 25, SA 542.**

**THRANDUIL** **OROPHERION** watched the king’s horse take a wide turn, skirting near the edge of the forest. The East Fort, standing like a sentinel at the junction where the eastern and western arms of the River Lune met, cast a long shadow over the forest as the sun moved west toward the Blue Mountains.

The Royal Guards were keeping their distance but stayed close to the king should he need a hand, not that Gil-galad ever needed a hand. The king was more than capable of protecting himself, and there were powerful lords around him. But Thranduil was the Captain of the Royal Guards and the king’s life was his responsibility. To think it would be his duty to make sure the King of Noldor was safe, life was strange, indeed.

A movement caught his eyes as Thranduil looked up. Far north of the East Fort, there was a horse running at an impossible speed along the river.

A messenger from the Taurobel? The village north of the East Fort was the only settlement outside the boundary of the river, as far as Thranduil knew. It was almost a full day’s ride from the fort and an hour’s ride from where Durion who came to Lindon accompanying the messengers from Thranduil’s father settled a few decades ago. 

Seeing how fast he was riding, the rider would arrive at the fort by the time the sun sets. It couldn’t be anything important, though, if they didn’t send a bird or a boat down the river, both of which were quicker than a horse. 

Thranduil glanced at the tall pine standing a few feet from the birch tree where he was surveying the area. Elrond should be up there, keeping a wary eye over everything. These days, Lord Gilmagor was the commander of the King’s Army in name only. He still kept the title, but it was Elrond who performed the duty. If the rider was coming to the East Fort and the matter dealt with the safety of the people, it fell under Elrond’s jurisdiction. But these days, nothing worth noting happened.

With a yawn, Thranduil stepped down to a lower branch when something shimmered and flashed pale at the edge of Thranduil’s vision. The Sinda turned and scrutinized the woods about him. They were approaching the last days of Stirring and the woods were awakening from their winter slumber. Someone was moving through the trees on his left. A rider on a white horse.

Something about the way the rider moved made Thranduil climbed down. It wasn’t just that the rider was far from the hunting party. She was moving painfully slowly, looking about her as if she was lost. 

“Lady Lalaithwen,” Thranduil called out when the horse came near. He jumped down onto the ground. He preferred not to involve himself with her, but she is the king’s cousin and thus fell under his obligation.

“Thranduil, you are here. Will you help me, captain?” Lalaithwen pulled her horse to a stop.

“Is something the matter? Why are you lagging so far behind others?”

Lalaithwen reached out her hand, and Thranduil helped her down from the horse.

“Where are your escorts?” Thranduil looked about him. He didn’t see anyone near.

“I think I hurt myself.” She pulled out one of her gloves and offered her hand.

“It looks fine,” Thranduil said and looked up from where he was bent over her hand. “Elrond is…” He didn’t get to finish when she fell forward and her lips crushed his.

He stopped breathing. The sound of the surrounding woods faded, and the scent of lilacs and spring flowers filled his senses. Something sweet, a taste of honeyed wine, melted into his mouth. The warm flowery scent was intoxicating, as was the taste of wine on his lips, and for a moment, he was lost in them, his mind foggy as if sudden mists covered the shapes of the surrounding forest. Soft arms encircled his neck, and a weight fell against him.

A sharp pain pulsed through his arm. The mists about him thinned as if stray wind stirred his mind awake. 

He wrenched himself away, but it was too late. Her eyes were laughing with mischief as a peal of laughter escaped her lips.

“Got you,” she said with a wicked smile, pointing to her lips which were red and puffed. She held up a palm, then added two more fingers with the other hand. She smocked her lips, then with a wink jumped back onto her horse. Leaving a trill of laughter in the winds, she was gone.

For a moment, Thranduil stood still, struck dumb by what happened.

“Dammit! I can’t believe I fell for that.” Thranduil turned to the tree behind him and knocked his head against it. The tree laughed.

“Shut up.”

Women were a menace, especially that Noldorin woman. Thranduil raked his hands over his head when he heard a sound. He turned to find Elrond looking at him with a shake of his head.

“Don’t say it,” Thranduil warned.

“Fool.” Elrond snorted as he crossed his arms. “That’s what? Sixth or seventh time in a century? Maybe nothing of note from others, but for you who do not miss anything? You are losing ground, my friend.”

“What? Are you keeping score?”

“Well, beside gold, my new bow is at stake. Erfaron has been eying it for his young son. I might have to order a new one. Ai, I could already see Cellon gloating.”

“What is this? Betting on my plight?”

“Stop being dramatic, Thranduil.” Elrond clucked his tongue. “Why don’t you give up? You know it is useless to resist.”

“She is Belegor’s sister. Worse, Lammaeg’s daughter.”

“Both of which you knew when you kissed her back.”

“You think I meant to do it? It’s… it’s her enchantment.”

“Excuses. Excuses.” Elrond shook his head again. “Why encourage her, then?”

“Encourage? Me?”

“Telling her you don’t want her is as same as challenging her.”

“Who told you that is what I said to her? How do you even know about that? And for your information, I just said nothing can happen between us. That’s all.”

“What is the difference? Did you not think she would take that as a challenge?”

Thranduil shrugged.

“Then, you are a bigger fool than I thought you were.” Elrond snorted.

“What am I to do?”

“Are you asking me for help?” Elrond’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Never mind.”

“Should I find some reliable jewel-smith for you?”

“Orc you.”

Thranduil stomped away, ignoring the chuckle coming from the Half-Elven.

As soon as he returned to his quarters, Thranduil packed his bag. He was officially off duty as of this evening. He had planned to leave for Durion’s house in the morning, but he wanted to be gone. There would be dancing tonight, and he was certain Lalaithwen would want him to dance with her. And there was no way for him to reject her without it being taken as an insult. And Thranduil wasn’t stupid enough to do that in front of the King, her father and her brother.

“How did she even know I was up in that tree?”

Thranduil stuffed his traveling pack. Then he remembered Erfaron asking him about his schedule this morning. He knew exactly where Thranduil planned to station himself during the hunt. Thranduil shook his head. Erfaron commanded the East Fort. He was probably asking about it as the commander, to be sure where everybody was. Wasn’t he?

“That Orc!”

Searing flames ravaged his left arm. Thranduil hissed as he dropped the item he was holding. Clenching his teeth, the Sinda squeezed his arm as if to choke the pain out of him.

For the past six months, the pain he thought he no longer had to worry about had returned. At first it was a burning stab that came suddenly and disappeared as fast. But, steadily, it increased to a point the pain made it difficult to breathe.

 _Thranduil Oroperion!_

Thranduil shook his head hard. The sound was ringing in his head. Someone was calling him. It wasn’t the voice of the dragon as he remembered it. But someone called to him as she had done, back in that accursed ruin.

“Get out of my head,” Thranduil growled as he closed himself further. 

The call diminished into a whisper before it disappeared. Thranduil let out a long breath, then breathed in as the pain calmed.

Thranduil massaged his arm as he looked out the window to breathe in the cool air. The last rays of the dying sunlight diluted the slate gray of the fort’s walls into deep red.

He may have to tell Mistress Taurien. He had thought the pain had gone away for good. Almost four centuries had passed since that incident at the Dwarven ruin. Thranduil had not had the pain since his trip with Elrond into Eriador. It was as if all the pain and the shadows were thrown in and the door locked. Thranduil had felt as if he was renewed. He thought he never had to deal with that pain again.

However, six months ago, the pain returned. And it seemed to get worse with time. Thranduil groaned. If Lassiel was here, he could quietly ask her for some medicine without anyone’s knowledge, but she was at Forlindon, as far west from the East Fort as possible.

Thranduil wondered if he should change his plans and travel with the king to the Grey Havens where this year’s New Year celebration will take place. The king planned to spend the rest of the year at the Grey Havens until the Meeting of the Council.

The past four centuries had been peaceful and the Council didn’t see a reason to gather too often. Now, they only met for a month in Autumn. Most of the councilors remained at Forlindon, but the few closest to the king gathered here to hunt together prior to the New Year, the reason Lord Cirdan, along with Lammaeg and Celebrimbor, was here at the fort.

The pain pulsed again. Thranduil rubbed at his arm furiously until it calmed again. Either he had to change his plan or ask Master Nestadion for some medicine, and that, he was loath to do. Thranduil did not want to alert the king’s physician of his condition.

Thranduil stuffed the last item into his pack and headed to the stable. He was to meet Aron at Durion’s place. Durion said he had a surprise to share with them. Perhaps it was time he told someone about the dragon blood. He knew he could trust both Aron and Durion. They were Thranarin’s sworn brothers. Thranduil knew they would die for him if there was ever such a need.

As Thranduil greeted his horse, a rider burst into the courtyard. He wore the silver and white of Lord Cirdan’s colors.

The Elf shouted at the groom as soon as he pulled his horse to a stop. “Where’s Lord Cirdan? Where’s the king?”

The horse’s gray fur was shiny and drenched in sweat, its breath fiery and rough like the screeching of that mad troll whose backside had been on fire. Thranduil frowned. He was guilty of occasionally driving his horses to a near exhaustion, but never intentionally. No Elf would.

Thranduil scrutinized the rider. He was fully armed and the gray cape he wore were dusty and sprinkled with… Thranduil opened his eyes wide. Black blood.

“What happened?” Thranduil approached the warrior. When the rider picked up his head, Thranduil recognized the face. He was an officer under Aron.

“Officer Harnen, didn’t you accompany Commander Aron to Taurobel? Something happened?”

“Ah, Captain Thranduil,” the warrior greeted with a salute, then dropped his eyes. There was something in the way he did it that bothered Thranduil.

“What is it? What happened?”

The officer nodded. “We were attacked. I must see Lord Cirdan and the king right away, Sir.”

“Come with me,” Thranduil abandoned his horse and his pack and led Harnen to the king’s chamber where he knew the lords were gathered for a drink before the start of the evening feast.

The Royal Guards were sprawled outside the chamber of the king, grouped around Belegor who had arrived yesterday to take over Thranduil’s duties. They were laughing until they saw Thranduil. They straightened, returning to their posts.

“Oropherion. I thought you left already,” Belegor said as he rose up from the seat carved under a window.

“We need to see the king.”

Belegor opened his mouth to speak when he met Thranduil’s eyes. Without another word, he turned then opened the door, following after Thranduil and Harnen.

In the chamber, Lord Lammaeg was talking to Lord Gilmagor and Celebrimbor while the king and Elrond were engaged with Lord Cirdan.

As soon as he saw Lord Cirdan, the officer kneeled, his head bent. Lord Cirdan frowned as he approached Harnen.

“Why are you here, Harnen? Shouldn’t you be at Taurobel?”

The officer’s head sank lower.

“I am sorry, my lord.” Harnen’s voice trembled.

Thranduil gritted his teeth when pain slashed through his arm. His heart boomed, and Thranduil clenched his fists to keep himself steady. 

“We were attacked, my lord.”

“Attacked? By what?” Cirdan asked. The king and Elrond turned, and Lord Gilmagor, Celebrimbor and Lammaeg moved closer to Harnen.

“Orcs. They came out of nowhere. Our visit to Taurobel was routine. We were just there to deliver supplies and everything went smoothly. The village was well-fortified. We did not suspect… did not expect.” The officer dropped his head again.

“The villagers?” The king stepped forward. “What happened to the villagers there?”

“Villagers are fine, Sir. No casualties. They did not attack the village.”

Everybody in the room let out a breath, except Thranduil. His eyes never left Harnen who tried to look anywhere but at him.

“Your warriors?” Cirdan frowned.

“Wounded, but alive. But one, the new one, Gwinion. He was…taken.”

Silence filled the chamber.

“Taken? What do you mean ‘taken’?” Celebrimbor asked. “Give us the details, soldier.”

“I took three warriors with me to go across to the east side of the river. One of the night guards said someone cut the ropes anchoring the boats and they went missing. We thought it was the elflings in the village. They liked to play pranks. The forest across the river was quiet. We did not think…” Harnen shook his head. “We were laughing. Nothing ever happened there before. They came out of nowhere. So many of them. They grabbed Gwinion and me. We were overwhelmed. They just fell on top of us. They hoisted us up on their shoulders…”

“What happened to Commander Aron, Harnen?” It surprised Thranduil how calm his voice sounded.

Harnen looked away.

“Harnen?” Lord Cirdan’s face paled.

“Why would Commander Aron be at Taurobel?” the king asked with a frown.

“He was off duty.” Cirdan met Thranduil's eyes. “He was to join Thranduil there. They were to meet an old friend.” Lord Cirdan took in a sharp breath.

Thranduil felt Elrond move over to his side.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Thranduil stepped closer to the Sindarin officer.

“Commander Aron had left the village earlier to see a friend nearby. But, he must have seen us or heard us. I was struggling to get free when Commander Aron was suddenly there. He cut down those creatures, the ones who grabbed me. But there were so many. They overwhelmed him, then carried him off. It was supposed to be me…”

The room darkened. Thranduil could not breathe.

\--------

 **Calendar** \--As before, the calendar will be in Shire format, but the Elven characters will speak of the seasons in Elvish calendar which is divided into 6 parts: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Fading, Winter and Stirring. Except for the Summer and Winter which are 72 days, rest of them are 54 days. First day of spring is Yestare which is the first day of the new year. In all my stories, Yestare is always April 1st.

 **Forlindon** ( _Sindarin_ , North Lindon)—Lindon north of the Gulf of Lune where most of the Noldor resided. Most Sindar resided in Harlindon, South Lindon.

For those who have forgotten or did not read Part 1, the list of OCs:

 **Gilmagor** : Lord Commander of Gil-galad's army, renowned among the Noldor for his skill with arms and military tactics.

 **Lammaeg** : Chief Coucilor and Gil-galad's maternal uncle. Belegor is his son who shares captaincy of the Royal Guards with Thranduil. Lady **Lalaithwen** is his daughter.

 **Aron** : son of Lord Cirdan's niece. Grew up with Thranduil's brother, **Thranarin** , who died at Menegroth during the attack by the Noldor.

 **Lassiel** , Mistress **Taurien** , and **Nestadion** are Noldorin healers under Gil-galad.

 **Erfaron** and **Cellon** mentioned by Elrond were officers who trained with Elrond and Thranduil


	3. Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil wants to lead the search party

**EREINION GIL-GALAD FINGONION** glanced at Lord Cirdan and placed a gentle hand on the back of his foster father. The elder Sinda was motionless and his face was serene, belying what must lie underneath. Aron is the son of Lord Cirdan’s niece. His niece was one of the many who perished during the attack at Menegroth. And Aron was the only blood kin Cirdan had with him now that his nephew, Lord Istuion, had left to be with Oropher.

The kinslaying at Doriath was as devastating for Cirdan and his people as it had been for the Sindar from that Fenced Land. And like many of his people, Lord Cirdan lost much through the long years: his son at _Nirnaeth Arnoediad_ , the Battle of Unnumbered Tears; his wife who sailed afterwards; to Silwen who was like a daughter to the Falathrim lord.

 _Silwen_. _Beloved._ Gil-galad caressed his gold ring and turned it around his finger, an old habit formed after she left this mortal world. The four centuries had not dulled the pain. Gil-galad doubted any amount of time would, not until they could meet again.

“When did this happen?” Thranduil asked, breaking the silence of the room. His voice sounded eerily calm.

“Early this morning when…”

“How early?”

“Dawn, before the sun rose.”

A shadow slipped over Thranduil’s flawless skin and his eyes narrowed into a slit, glinting like a naked blade.

Officer Harnen shrank where he sat.

“Why didn’t you send a bird? Even if the boats were lost, you could have sent a bird and we would have known hours ago. Do you not know that with every hour that passes, the chance of rescuing the captured will decline tenfold?”

“We cou….couldn’t. The birds…they were dead. We found them all shot to death.”

There was a gasp. Gil-galad swallowed. No one said it, but everyone knew it. This wasn’t a normal Orc raid. This was a carefully planned and executed act, something Orcs were not capable of doing without someone to control them.

Lord Gilmagor, who had listened without a word, sat back down.

“Lord Commander?” The king turned to Gilmagor. In all military matters, Gilmagor had the authority.

“It is time,” Gilmagor said as he turned to Elrond. “Sound the alarm. Send out the birds as well as the riders to all the forts in our boundary. Have Commander Erfaron send out troops to the village to see to its fortification and to provide support to any scouts sent after the Orcs. Help the commander with the fortification of this fort. Captain Belegor, inform the Royal Guards to prepare to move out. Have the ship ready to depart as soon as possible. Send some out to scout the river route to make sure the trip down the river will be safe. Lord Celebrimbor, you will take over and prepare the troops at the Hills of Evendim.”

Celebrimbor frowned. “This is only a small raid, actually not even a raid. They didn’t attack the village. Are we not overreacting?”

“It is not. We have someone who can control the Orcs,” said Gil-galad. Lammaeg and Lord Cirdan nodded. “Remember the report from the Silmacil after that incident at the Dwarven ruin? Couple centuries ago, now. They mentioned there was another power behind the dragon. We discussed this at the Council meeting, Celebrimbor, the possibility that Sauron was behind it.”

“That wasn’t proven,” Celebrimbor said. “And even if it was, sending up an alarm at the first moment the Enemy makes a move, isn’t that too much too soon? This could cause panic. We knew Orcs were moving recently. Isn’t that why you moved some troops to the Hills of Evendim in the first place?” Celebrimbor turned to Gilmagor.

They had received a missive from Oropher as to the movement of the Orcs in the Misty Mountains. Gilmagor had sent out several Silmacils to the east to check on them.

Once established in the east, Oropher provided Lindon with invaluable information on the movement of the Orcs and the other remnants of the Dark Lord which had migrated east along the base of the western arm of the Misty Mountains. It was a great relief for Lindon which was too far west from where these former dark forces had settled. Eriador was wide and wild. Having an ally on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains who could monitor the dark horde meant Gil-galad could keep a wary eye on the Enemy despite the distance.

But Oropher was driving a hard bargain. He conditioned his assistance on having Thranduil returned to him earlier than they had agreed upon. Gil-galad feared, however, that such help from Oropher may cease once Thranduil was no longer in Lindon. Oropher insisted that he and his people had no interest in the welfare of Gil-galad’s people. He wanted to return to the way of life of the Woodelves among the wild, free and unrestrained. The Sinda seemed to believe that was how they were meant to be. But that was not ideal, at least not for Gil-galad. Unlike the Noldor and the Sindar living in Lindon, the Woodelves were numerous. If and when they were needed, the Woodelves could make up, in numbers, what the combined army of Noldor and Sindar could not. Gil-galad hoped Oropher would have a command over the Woodelves so that when the time came for the Elves to be united against the dark forces, convincing Oropher would be enough to do so. And in order to accomplish that, Gil-galad could not let the ties he had built with Oropher to die. At least, not while Sauron had power in Middle-earth.

If only Lalaithwen would succeed, then Gil-galad would not have to worry about losing that vital connection. Thranduil would become part of the family. If his son were to marry Lalaithwen, Oropher would have no choice but to accept.

“Shouldn’t we discuss this first before sending out the alarm?” Celebrimbor looked around the room as if to seek support.

“That discussion is not for here.” Lammaeg who had been quiet cut in.

Gilmagor nodded. “I agree.” Gilmagor turned to Belegor. “You are dismissed, Captain Belegor. Please see to your order. Officer Harnen get some rest. We may call on you again later.”

“Sir!” both Harnen and Belegor left.

“We should call the meeting of the Council, Your Majesty,” Lammaeg said. “The alert should be for the military only until we are more certain of what is happening. We should send out the Silmacil. Once we have all the information, then the Council could decide what needs to be done.”

“Two of our own are taken.” Thranduil’s voice, strung tight and sharp, ripped through their discussion demanding attention. “Every moment you waste discussing this, you take away their lives.”

Gilmagor turned to Thranduil. “Captain Thranduil, your job is to see to the safety of His Majesty and his household. Please prepare the rest of the Household to be moved. You are dismissed, captain.”

“I am off duty, my lord. And Belegor is here. He is the Captain of the Royal Guards on duty now. I am not needed. Please let me lead the search party. I know these mountains and I know Orcs. I can track them. I could bring them back.”

Gil-galad felt Lord Cirdan go rigid. The king turned to his foster father and met Cirdan’s eyes. The elder Sinda shook his head, just slightly, undiscernible for others, but Gil-galad knew what Cirdan meant.

“Certainly not. You have your order. Dismissed.” Gilmagor’s voice brooked no argument.

Gilmagor let out a sigh of relief that it wasn’t he who had to say it. He knew what Thranduil was feeling. He knew what Commander Aron meant to Thranduil.

“You can’t stop me.” Thranduil said, his voice almost a growl.

“How dare you question the order from Lord Commander,” Celebrimbor growled back. “You forget your place, Captain.”

Thranduil’s eyes, glinting like a well-honed sword, clashed with the cool gray eyes of Celebrimbor.

“Lord Celebrimbor,” Gilmagor stepped between the councilor and the captain. “Even if this incident proves to be nothing, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Please see to the troops at the Hills of Evendim. In the event something goes wrong, we will need the troops to be ready.”

“And once they are prepared, come to the Grey Havens, Celebrimbor,” Gil-galad added. “By then, most of the Councilors will be there. We will decide then once we have more information. Go now, cousin.”

Frowning, Celebrimbor turned to Thranduil, then snorted aloud.

“As I always said, Your Majesty, you shouldn’t spoil your pets. Remember that spoiled dogs will jump onto your lap unbidden. They might even bite.”

With a curt bow, Celebrimbor took leave. Gil-galad didn’t miss the fire in Thranduil’s eyes nor the clenched fists, one of which Elrond held back.

The king sighed, remembering the tension in the Council chamber whenever Celebrimbor and Thranduil were in it. Thranduil was not a full-fledged member of the council and did not have a vote in the Council’s decisions. But he was allowed to present his views when bidden. And the Sinda was a vocal opponent to Celebrimbor whenever his cousin said anything remotely against the rights of the Sindar in Lindon.

Gil-galad wondered at times like this whether it had been a good idea to have had Pengolodh teach Thranduil the history of Noldor. Now, Thranduil knew exactly who Celebrimbor was. It was like adding a tinder to the fire.

“I understand your concern for Commander Aron,” Gil-galad said, watching the door close behind Celebrimbor. “I know he is like a family to you. But, remember he is as important to us as well, Thranduil. He is Lord Cirdan’s grandnephew, so I consider him family. But we have capable trackers. Trust in your fellow warriors. They will find Aron. I promise.” One way or other.

Gil-galad could not promise that they will find Aron alive, however. Everyone in the chamber knew that.

“Let me go, please.” Thranduil sank down onto his knees and bowed his head. “Please, Your Majesty. I ask you this favor. Have I not been a loyal guard for the past centuries? Please.”

Gil-galad swallowed a gasp. He had never expected Thranduil to bow down to him. Never had the proud Sinda ever bent his knees in front of him, whether in private or in front of others, never once through the past four centuries.

The king was moved. He knew what it took for Thranduil to bend. He understood the desperation of wanting to save a life of the one who means so much. A soft ache ran through his heart as Gil-galad turned the gold ring around his finger once again.

The King turned to the three elder lords. But all three of them shook their heads.

“You are to return to the Grey Havens with the king. That is an order, Captain,” Gilmagor said, his voice firm and commanding.

“We cannot have a repeat of what happened last time, Thranduil,” Cirdan’s voice was warm and concerned. “I want Aron back as much as you do. But, there are times when we must wait.”

Gil-galad was glad his uncle chose not to say anything. The king understood the concerns of these elders. Oropher was working with them now, however reluctantly. But if they lost Thranduil, should some harm come to him, and even if the fault did not lie with them, everything they had done to build this fragile relationship with Oropher would be lost. And Sauron was back. There was too much at stake.

“Please, Your Majesty.” Thranduil looked up at the king, his eyes glistening.

“I am sorry, Thranduil.” Gil-galad steeled himself. “Please trust your fellow warriors. They will do everything they can.”

Thranduil shot up. “I am going.” Thranduil’s eyes flashed defiantly, burning with moist heat. “I am off duty as of this evening. Has Your Majesty forgotten? I am free to do with my off time as I wish, or is that now forbidden?”

“I can’t let you go if you plan to go after Commander Aron.”

“You can’t stop me.” Thranduil hissed.

Elrond grabbed Thranduil’s elbow. “Thranduil, please.”

“The truth is, I can.” Gil-galad said. It took only a look from him and the two guards moved one on each side of Thranduil. They looked at their captain with a look of apology, but Thranduil’s eyes were not on them.

“You are going to imprison me?”

Gil-galad met the Sinda’s eyes which were half pleading, half defiant.

“Give me your word of honor and I will trust you, Thranduil. Promise me that you will not go after Commander Aron. Give me your word on your father’s honor and life. If not, I cannot let you leave.”

Gil-galad looked at the Sinda steadily with unwavering calm. He did not worry that Thranduil would lie to him and go do what he wanted. Four centuries Thranduil had been his guard, yet the king did not feel he knew the Sinda any more than he had when Thranduil first came to Lindon. But Gil-galad knew one thing for certain. Thranduil valued his words like a dragon its hoard. The king had learned to trust the words Thranduil gave.

Thranduil’s eyes, that strange shade of blue green, flickered. He clenched his fists, turning his knuckles white. Silence swallowed the sounds and filled the room with something sticky, thickening the air within it.

Thranduil turned away. “I cannot.”

“Then I am sorry. I cannot let you leave the fort. Take him.” The king gestured to the guards. “You will ride with me in the ship to the Grey Havens.”

The guards escorted Thranduil out. Elrond turned. He opened his mouth, but Gilmagor looked sternly at him.

“Have you forgotten your order, Captain Elrond? Every second counts,” Gilmagor said before Elrond could say anything.

“Sir!” Elrond glanced at Gil-galad but left the chamber.

Gil-galad massaged his heart. A knot tightened his chest there. “Are we doing the right thing? Keeping Thranduil? He knows this area, and he is skilled. Perhaps we should allow him to lead the rescue party?”

“I want Aron back. Safe and alive.” Cirdan’s eyes glistened. Gil-galad’s heart tightened to see the elder Sinda so grieved. “But we cannot lose Thranduil. You know what is at stake. I am certain Sauron stirs again.”

“And our experience with Sauron tells us he never forgets nor forgives,” said Gilmagor. “I shudder to think what he would do if he were to get near Thranduil or even Elrond.” He was quiet for a moment before he continued. “This attack, this is not about war. From what I gathered from the report from the Silmacil, the number of Orcs moving from the Misty Mountains was limited. There are not enough Orcs to be a significant threat to Lindon. If it was, I cannot imagine how the village was spared. Sauron would have had the village burned down to announce his return. But he did not do that. He did not want conflict. This is something else.”

“Thranduil, I understand, seeing how far Sauron went trying to frame him, but why Elrond? And if you believe this is not an attack, why sound the alarm?” Gil-galad was puzzled. “Then, is not Celebrimbor correct? Perhaps, it is too early to react?”

“Unfortunately for us, Sauron knows exactly who Elrond is. He is the embodiment of all the races and the blood of kings from both the Edain and our people. Elrond represents everyone Sauron hates. Remember he had Elrond abducted under my very watch. Valar were watching over us when Elrond was spared a direct confrontation with that Dark Foe. That dark Maia would not have spared him. As for the alarm, if this is Sauron, he is going to want to test our borders. We do not want him to doubt our strength and preparedness.” Gilmagor let out a long sigh.

“If it is not to attack us, what is your guess, Gilmagor?” Lammaeg asked.

“Sauron knew we would know if he grabbed our soldiers. It seems clear to me that Commander Aron and the other soldier were grabbed for some purpose. If they meant to kill them, it would have been easier to just shoot them dead. Our guards were completely unaware and surprised.” Gilmagor rubbed the bump on his crooked nose.

“Do you think he knows who Aron is?” Cirdan’s eyes clouded. “Perhaps this was to lure Thranduil? In revenge of what happened at the ruin?” 

“It didn’t seem so, and I hope not. That bodes more ill if that was so.” Gilmagor frowned. “If you will give me leave, Your Majesty, I will take the Silmacil and travel to Forochel.”

Unable to sit, Gil-galad walked over to a window. He needed to breathe.

“Is that necessary? If you are wrong and there is an attack, we need you here, Gilmagor.” Lord Lammaeg seemed to share Gil-galad’s concern.

“Remember the report about three months ago?” Gilmagor asked.

“The quake at that mountain, the one you believe was the last location of Captain Astalder?” Gil-galad winced at the sharp pain through his chest.

They had all known that when Astalder left the Grey Havens that year after the first yen, it may be the last time seeing him. That was like that with all the Silmacil, but Gil-galad had not the time to think. If he had known that it would be the last time he saw the captain… Gil-galad unbuttoned the collar of his robe. The lump in his throat made it difficult for him to breathe.

He had been too occupied by what happened to Silwen; he had not thought much about Captain Astalder’s departure. Even before, the captain had disappeared often and was rarely at the palace. But it seemed to the King that Astalder was always there when Gil-galad needed him the most. And he had never gotten to say goodbye or, more importantly, to thank Astalder. The pain washed over his heart and stung his eyes.

“Do you think, is it even possible, that he may be alive?” Gil-galad asked what he always feared to ask. The pain would be too great at its confirmation.

“No.” Gilmagor took in a long breath. “Sometimes, we must hope even when it seems hopeless, but we must not hold onto empty ones, Ereinion. Sauron was kept away for these past four centuries because they sacrificed themselves. I am certain.”

Lammaeg moved over to Gilmagor, his hand on the Lord Commander’s shoulder just as Lord Cirdan did. 

Gil-galad swallowed the lump in his throat as he faced the window.

“I will leave tonight.” Gilmagor’s voice was soft, but firm. “The quake may have something to do with Sauron. If it is, then there is a possibility that a way inside the mountain is open somehow. I would have gone when I received the news of the quake, but the winter arrived and the way there was impassible. It is still early, but the weather should have calmed.”

Lord Gilmagor had sent several Silmacil after Captain Astalder when no news of him came. And the Silmacil returned unable to find a trace except to say that they found a village where there was a story of sixteen brave men who disappeared after following two strangers into the belly of a mountain. The Silmacil had determined that the two strangers were Astalder and Astarno. But they could not locate the entrance to the cave beneath the mountain. But three months ago, one of the Silmacil returning from the east met a Northman on the road and heard a news that there was a quake at the mountain and the Orc horde was gathering there.

“Why not send other Silmacil? Why do you need to go there yourself?”

The king did not wish his master to take the trip. Gilmagor had recovered the use of the broken arm and the leg, but he was not the warrior he once was.

“Too much time has passed. There will be no remains of them.” Gil-galad paced, anything to stop the bleeding of his heart.

“Perhaps not them, but if it is the place, there is something I must recover.”

Hearing the determination in the Lord Commander’s voice, Gil-galad knew he could not stop him.

“I will leave two Silmacil here, to make sure Thranduil gets on the ship with you, Ereinion. Once he is at the Grey Havens, Thranduil will have to accept he cannot go after Aron.” Gilmagor turned to Lord Cirdan. “Please leave in the morning, as the dawn arrives. It will prevent any attempt on the part of the Orcs to attack the ships.”

“May Elbereth light your way and keep you safe,” said Lammaeg as he held onto Gilmagor’s arm, and Cirdan held onto the other. And surprisingly, Lammaeg and Cirdan linked their arms. And the three elder lords put their heads together.

Gil-galad felt tears well up in his eyes. He blinked them away. He was the king. Gilmagor would not have wanted to see him falter.

When Gilmagor left, Lammaeg came to stand on Gil-galad’s right and Lord Cirdan on his left as they watched the door close behind the Lord Commander.

“Don’t worry, Ereinion. He is an old coot, but he is a tricky one. He will return.” Lammaeg padded Gil-galad’s back.

\-----

 **Nirnaeth Arnoediad** (Sindarin. _The Battle of Unnumbered Tears_ )—The fifth and the last battle fought between the Noldor and Morgoth in the First Age. Noldor lost and Morgoth took control of the most of Beleriand. Remainder of Noldorin forces scattered. Gil-galad’s father, Fingon, died in this battle.

 **Hills of Evendim** (known as Emyn Uial in Sindarin, _Hills of Dusk_ )—Several hills north of Tower Hills on the eastern side of River Lune. It is said that Galadriel and Celeborn settled here after they left Doriath. When Numenoreans first returned to Middle-earth, they met other men, ancestors of Edain, here who settled among these hills. It later became the center of Kingdom of Arnor under Elendil.

\----

RECAP:

 **The Silmacils (Brotherhood of the White Sword)** \--the elite warriors used by Noldor on covert missions. They are the best of the best (my creation and not in Tolkien's work)

 **Astalder** \--Captain and the charismatic leader of the Silmacil. Read the last chapter of Part 1 (Ch101) if you don't remember what happened to Astalder.

In my stories, Gil-galad is Fingon's son, thus belongs to the House of Fingolfin.

 **A/N:** Celebrimbor is the son of Curufin, 5th son of Feanor. Curufin was one of the three sons of Feanor who died at Menegroth when Feanor’s sons attacked (second kinslaying) Doriath. In Part1, What It Means to be a King, Curufin is called Kurvo (name used by his family). Thranduil would see Curufin as the murderer of his family, and Celebrimbor would see Oropher (and the Sindar from Menegroth) as the murderer of his father, so you can imagine how they would feel about each other.


	4. Bond of Duty and Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is conflicted.

**East Fort. March 26, SA 542.**

**ELROND EARENDILION** knew it was unlikely, but when Erfaron walked in, the Half-elven knew it was hopeless.

“I am sorry, Elrond. There was nothing I could have done.” Erfaron took the goblet of wine Elrond offered before taking a seat. “There were two Silmacil warriors watching him. You know I don’t have any authority over them.”

Elrond frowned. The Silmacil answered to no one except to the king and the few exclusive members of the Council.

“Didn’t Lord Gilmagor dispatch all the Silmacils in the fort?” As far as Elrond knew there were five at the fort, two who came with Lord Gilmagor and three who came later, each from different directions.

Erfaron shook his head. “There were two with Thranduil. They wore an unmarked armor, but I recognized them. The two who arrived with Lord Gilmagor.”

“Thoron and Baldor?”

Erfaron nodded.

The king was serious about taking Thranduil with him to the Grey Havens. He was not taking any chances. Elrond bit down a curse.

Erfaron pulled Elrond’s hand away from his warrior braid, which the Half-elven wasn’t aware he was pulling.

“You are going to lose all your hair in the front if you keep doing that whenever you get upset.” Erfaron shook his head. With a sigh, the commander of the East Fort asked, “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?”

“Lord Gilmagor is not here. Doesn’t that mean you have his authority?”

Elrond shook his head. “He transferred his authority to Commander Gwendir. He will wait for us at the Grey Havens. I am ordered to sit back and assist only, to learn how this is being managed.”

“Gilmagor is not taking any chances, is he? He knows you too well, my friend. That old fox.”

Old fox, indeed. Before leaving, Gilmagor entrusted Thranduil to him.

_You know him well, Elrond. Monitor him. You are the only one he may listen. I shall hold you accountable. Do not confuse the bond of friendship with your duty to the king. His Majesty relies on you._

Elrond got up, unable to sit. He pinched his forehead. He knew what his duty and the loyalty to the king demanded, but Thranduil’s words would not leave him.

_What if it was Elros? If it was you and it was Elros who was taken, would you be able to sit back and wait for news?_

“How is he doing?”

“You know how he is. ‘Help me or get out,’” Erfaron imitated Thranduil’s voice, then shook his head before taking a sip of wine.

“Did he, at least, eat?” Elrond delivered the dishes the King’s cook prepared instead of sending a servant. Gil-galad had included an entire bottle of his finest wine. But Thranduil had ignored them.

“Didn’t touch a thing.”

“That stupid Orc!” Elrond got up, unable to sit. “Why can’t he be reasonable? We have our finest warriors on this. Why can’t he trust them?”

“Calm down, Elrond. He is what he is. Turning into a dragon will change nothing.” Erfaron got up. “I have to make my rounds. But know that even if we could let Thranduil slip out of that tower, there is no way he could escape the fort. We are at full alert. Not even a mouse can walk in or out of here. And with those two Silmacil there…” Erfaron shook his head. “Even if Thranduil evades them, he won’t get far.” Erfaron gulped down whatever was left in his goblet. “And you know I would do anything for him, after what he has done for me and Saldor. But I will not order a guard under my command to stand down or turn a blind eye. I don’t mind losing my own commission, but I won’t risk theirs.”

“I know. And I won’t ask you to. Nor would Thranduil want that.”

Erfaron turned to go, then turned to look at Elrond again. “Thranduil will need a friendly face tonight. I doubt he will sleep. Let him know that we are doing everything we can. I sent out my finest scouts and trackers. They will find them. I know they will.” With a nod, he was gone.

Elrond massaged his chest. The ache and the tightness in his heart worsened.

He looked out at the window that looked down the river, a flowing line of silver under the starlight. The night was deep and silent.

The pleading in Thranduil’s eyes had struck Elrond more than it should because he could feel the turbulence of emotion Thranduil usually kept hidden. The Sinda was a house on fire. The tendrils of emotion emanating from him were like the wisps of smoke escaping from the tightly closed windows where Elrond could see the fires raging. The smoke was so thick, Elrond did not need his special senses to feel them.

He understood. Aron was brother to Thranduil. After the Sinda lost his own brother at Menegroth, Aron had filled that deep, gaping hole, darker than the pit of _Angband_ , just as Thranduil did for Elros. Elrond knew how un-fillable that hole was, and what it took to fill it. He knew how deeper and wider that hole will become for the next person if there ever was a next person.

For the past four centuries, there was a bond of more than just friendship between him and Thranduil. Elrond considered Thranduil a brother, but he wasn’t sure how Thranduil felt. The Sinda became more open and comfortable with him than before. Perhaps Elrond’s glimpse into his past hurts had made Thranduil more comfortable with him, Elrond assumed. But Thranduil rarely talked about his past and never about what happened at Menegroth and at Sirion. And perhaps it was that unwillingness on the part of Thranduil that prevented Elrond from talking about Elros, even when he desperately wanted to do so.

Elrond yanked open the window to swallow the cool air of the Stirring. His heart ached and the feeling of loss he felt whenever he thought of Elros these days clove at him even more painfully this night.

 _What if it was Elros?_ Thranduil’s bitter words rang out in Elrond’s mind. _If you have a chance to bring him back, wouldn’t you do everything you could?_

Yes, he would. But at what cost? Gil-galad deserved his loyalty, too. Perhaps even more so.

“He is your king, not just your family.” Elrond said it aloud to remind himself. “You owe him your loyalty. Your duty demands it.”

But the fact remained. Orcs took Aron. Just the thought of it broke Elrond’s heart. He knew what Orcs were like. He knew the terrible torture the Orcs put their prisoners through. And the other soldier who was taken, he was a young recruit who recently joined the army according to Officer Harnen.

“Elbereth, if you are listening, watch over them.” Elrond prayed.

Elrond reached for his pack and took out a golden plate helm. Unlike their current helmet, this one, made in Valinor, did not have a high crest. Artfully carved eagle sat on top, its wings spread down to protect the face. On each side of the wings a white sword was inlaid with mithril, a symbol of the Silmacil. All members of the Silmacil either carried one or wore one when they traveled outside the city. This particular helmet, Captain Astalder had given it to Elrond at the King’s Isle in the heart of the Dwarven ruin. Elrond never had a chance to return it and had held onto it, hoping that one day Astalder would return to claim it.

Many times, through the years, he had meant to return the helmet to one of the Silmacil, but Elrond did not. He didn’t know why and was surprised when he felt compelled to bring it to this hunting party. He thought, perhaps, he was ready to part with it. He had planned to return it to Lord Gilmagor.

“What should I do, Captain. What would you do?”

Leaving his room, Elrond hurried over to the tower where Thranduil was held. He was on the top floor, in a cell reinforced with bars and a locked door to hold a backup supply of arrows. The floors below were cells built in case the fort needed to hold prisoners. At the moment, they used the cells as a storage to hold old arms and weapons.

Unlike when Elrond first visited, no Royal Guards stood at the door to the tower. Not even at the top. Instead, on the top floor, in front of a wide open cell door, two Elves sat by a table playing a game of Rose and Thorn. They wore gray tunics and trousers with worn leather armor and boots. They carried no visible weapons on them. If Elrond was anyone else, he would have thought them just two guards at rest. But Elrond knew them. Anyone who knew what to look for would have seen that they wore their warrior braids one on each side. And those braids were finished with a mithril pin shaped like two swords. And that person would know why the cell door was wide open. There would have been no need to lock Thranduil in. The Sinda would know, just as well as Elrond did, that he had no chance of escaping these two Elves.

When they saw Elrond, one of the Elves turned to him with a big smile and a wave. “Welcome. Welcome.”

Baldor’s smile was wide and warm until he turned his face back to the table laden with shiny river pebbles, black and white. Thoron, Baldor’s warrior companion, placed a black pebble with gold markings amongst them when Baldor’s friendly face crumbled. He threw the white pebbles with silver markings on the table. “Bah! Thoron kicked my ass again. Never play strategy game with Thoron, Elrond.”

“Your fault. Too much thorn, not enough rose,” Thoron said quietly.

Baldor grumbled, then with a sigh looked up. “What brings you here at this time of the night?”

Thoron also looked up. Unlike Baldor’s warm and smiling eyes, Thoron had eyes like those of an eagle blazing with light. Elrond swallowed hard, then smiled awkwardly.

“Has he touched anything?” Elrond asked turning away from Thoron’s penetrating gaze.

“No. Not a thing. Neither did he speak. Stubborn, that one,” Baldor said with a shake of his head.

“You have no idea,” Elrond said.

Thoron got up just as Elrond tried to find the words.

“Come, Baldor. Let’s go stretch our legs.” Thoron turned to Elrond. “We’ll be downstairs.”

Elrond flashed Thoron a grateful smile. When the two Silmacil warriors left, Elrond looked inside the cell.

Thranduil sat, leaning against a wall, his legs spread out before him, his arms crossed on his chest. His eyes were closed. Next to him, a tray of food, a generous serving of grilled meat with poached apples and roasted potatoes, remained ignored. Even the bottle of wine stood exactly where Elrond had placed it. The plush bedding the king had sent remained unrolled and untouched by his feet.

With a sigh Elrond entered the cell and sat down next to Thranduil. The Sinda did not move, nor did he open his eyes. But Elrond knew better than to think Thranduil was asleep.

The Half-elven remained quiet for a while. He knew not to talk about why the king did what he did or to convince Thranduil to trust other warriors. None of that would matter to Thranduil now. So, he said what he had kept in his heart instead.

“When Elros sailed from the Grey Havens, I knew I would never see him again. I comforted myself that my brother would exist somewhere under the same sky. We may be in different places, but I can look up at the stars and know that he would look at the same stars I did. But now…” He could not go on. His throat thickened and his eyes stung. What he had kept hidden rushed out and choked him.

“I thought Valar gave him longer life than normal.” Thranduil said. Elrond turned to find Thranduil watching him.

“They did. But not long enough.”

“How do you know?”

“He came to me. In my dream.”

“When?”

Elrond shook his head. “About a century ago.”

Thranduil sat up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? You rarely talk about yours.” Elrond did not mean this to be about himself, but it came out that way, nonetheless. Elrond grabbed at his chest where a painful knot took hold of his heart. He will never see his brother, not in this life nor in the next. “I know much time has passed…”

“Not enough.” Thranduil turned away. “Six hundred twenty-five winters passed since my brother… It still hurts. If I don’t talk about him, it is because it still hurts to speak his name.” Thranduil’s voice cracked, almost into a whisper. Elrond’s eyes filled with tears.

They sat in silence for a long while.

“Does it ever go away?” Elrond had to know.

“No. Not for me.”

Elrond turned to Thranduil. He was struggling to maintain control, but the Half-elven could feel the cracks in Thranduil’s usual ice wall. Elrond’s neck tightened as his senses picked up grief that surrounded them like gray mist.

“You cannot blame yourself.”

“How could I not? I stood there and watched while he…bled.”

“You were a child, Thranduil.”

“Yes. I was a child then, the child who brought the kinslayers to slaughter his family.”

“You didn’t know. You were a child who knew nothing.”

“I am not now. But another brother of mine will die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I? But do you know what hurts more? That I wouldn’t be able to do anything. No matter how skilled, no matter how old, I wouldn’t be able to do everything I can to save him. How is this different from when Thranarin died when I stood there and watched the light in his eyes fade? At least…” Thranduil’s eyes were like jewels in water. “At least, if I did everything I could have done to save him, if I exhausted every possible way…” Thranduil grabbed his head with his hands and hid his face. “It wouldn’t hurt so much.”

The moment he left the tower, Elrond ran. He ran as fast as his two feet would allow him. When his lungs screamed for air, Elrond stopped, then fell down on the floor not caring where it was. He knew what loss felt like. The emptiness, the un-fillable hole of grief. But, at least, he knew his brother lived a full life. The night Elrond knew Elros passed away, he had dreamed of his brother, old and wrinkled but still hale. Elros had looked happy and content. In the midst of overwhelming grief, that had comforted Elrond. If he were to lose his brother and knew that he had suffered, and he had done nothing to ease that suffering, how much greater would that pain of loss would have been. Elrond got up. He looked toward the central tower of the fort where Gil-galad’s chamber lay.

The dawn was approaching, a pale crimson far in the eastern sky. Elrond hurried his steps.

“I am here to take Thranduil to the king,” Elrond said.

“Isn’t it too early?” Baldor asked. There was no window low enough for them to look out of the tower. “I didn’t hear the bell announcing the _First Hour_.”

“The king wanted to give Thranduil a chance to wash and change.”

“Indeed,” Thoron said leaning against the door to the cell, his arms folded. “Come, Baldor. I heard they will be serving poached eggs and roasted root vegetables this morning.”

“Oooo, poached eggs,” Baldor rubbed his hands with glee. “But, isn’t it too early for the dining hall?”

“By the time we wash up and rest a little, it should open.” Thoron followed, but before he went down the steps, the Silmacil stopped.

“Elrond, sometimes, being a friend means you have to be tough. Kindness is not always the most helpful thing you can do for them,” Thoron said without turning, then followed Baldor down the stairs.

Elrond swallowed hard. There was a reason why these Silmacils were so feared and admired. Elrond sniffed, then turned back to the Sinda. He could not turn back now.

“Thranduil?”

The Sinda didn’t move or made any gesture to acknowledge Elrond.

“If you want to go after Aron, then I suggest you eat first.”

Thranduil’s eyes flew open. He met Elrond’s eyes.

“You will disobey your king?” Thranduil tilted his head as if he wasn’t sure what he was hearing.

“Eat your food and be quick about it.” Elrond growled, feeling the sting in his heart. “We can’t carry much with us.”

Thranduil’s face brightened. “Yes, sir!”

Elrond had never seen Thranduil eat so fast or so vigorously.

“We wouldn’t get far.” Elrond let out a sigh. Thoron probably knew that.

“I only need a chance. Did you bring a weapon? An armor?”

“Guards at the gates have been warned not to let you out of the fort, Thranduil. Fully armed and armored, you wouldn’t even get near the gate.”

“Are you expecting me to track the Orcs bare handed?” Thranduil frowned at Elrond.

“Just follow me,” Elrond said. Outside was still dark although in the east, the sky was turning crimson. “Do exactly as I say or I give you my word, Thranduil, I will personally lock you in that tower.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes but followed silently behind Elrond.

Staying to the shadows, they reached the stables. Thranduil grabbed one of the horses, but Elrond held onto his arm.

“I told you, the moment you reach the gates, you will be captured and brought back.”

“I’ll run for it.”

“And how do you plan to open the gate?”

Elrond reached inside a mound of hay. He took out a leather armor usually worn by scouts along with a quiver full of arrows and sword issued to the guards.

When Thranduil put on the armor, Elrond pulled out a large sheet and put it around Thranduil’s shoulder.

“What…”

“Not one word.” Elrond pushed Thranduil onto a wooden box and took out a glob of dark paste he had made in haste. He hoped it would work. Elrond handed him a strip of clothes.

“Wipe before any of it flow into your eyes. It will irritate them. You don’t exactly blend in, I am sure you know that. No matter what you are wearing, the moment they see your hair, guards will know it is you.” Elrond hoped the paste was dark enough to cover the golden gleam in Thranduil’s hair. But when Elrond wiped off the gunk, the dye was not dark enough. But he could not leave a paste on the hair, that would look strange. Any sharp-eyed elf would notice.

“Perhaps you can get me a helmet.” Thranduil looked around. “We should have gotten one of those old helmets in that tower.”

“I brought a helmet.” Elrond took out the helmet he hid with their pack and handed it to Thranduil.

“Is this?” Thranduil touched the white sword inlaid with mithril into the gold plated metal.

“Captain Astalder’s. Not too many here will recognize it, but most guards know about the Silmacil by reputation. But, even with the helmet on, a portion of your hair will show.”

Without a word, Thranduil got up, then walked over to one of the horses with dark chestnut mane. When Thranduil whispered something into the horse’s ear, Elrond realized what Thranduil intended.

“No, Thranduil.” But it was too late. Thranduil came back with a handful of the horse’s mane.

“I hated to do it, but we have no time to wait for my hair color to change. I promised her a sack of apples when they become available.”

“Do you know whose horse that is?” Elrond felt chills behind his back. “That is Lord Lammaeg’s horse, you idiot.”

“Ah, well,” Thranduil cringed. “It’s good then I won’t be here.”

“You are not just an idiot, you will be a dead idiot.” Elrond snatched the horse’s mane and wove it into the pile of wet and sticky hair and placed the helmet on top, carefully placing strip of clothes around it to prevent any liquid from dripping down into the face.

“For once, it is good that you are tall and broad. I don’t think they will doubt that you can be one of the Silmacil.” Elrond scrutinized Thranduil up and down. Thranduil was taller than even other Noldor, so it was not difficult to pass him for one from Valinor if he had more light in his eyes. But the problem was the color. The helmet obscured most of his face, but the vibrant color of his eyes was difficult to miss.

“Try to avert your eyes without looking like you are doing so.” Elrond hoped the guards will not look at them too carefully. “Don’t say a word. Let me do the talking.”

When they approached the gate, a soft crimson dawn was chasing the darkness of the night.

There were four guards by the gate, two on each side and two on the rampart above.

The ones by the gates were not the warriors from Valinor. Elrond bit down a sigh of relief.

“I am Captain Elrond. We are to scout the area across the river ahead of the king’s travel,” Elrond said to one of the guards.

“Sir! If you would, we were not told of your departure. I must check with my superior first. Excuse us, sir. We were told not to let anyone pass.”

Before Elrond could say anything, the other guard gestured to one of the guards on the rampart who sent up a small ball of light which flickered twice before it disappeared.

“Look here, soldier. I serve Lord Commander as a deputy.” Elrond’s heart hammered. He didn’t want to lie any more than it was absolutely necessary, but he could not afford to wait for the guard’s superior. He didn’t know who would come.

“But, he does not look familiar,” the guard said glancing at Thranduil who was looking away.

“How many Silmacil warriors have you met, Maerthan?” Erfaron strolled forward. “Look at the white sword inlaid into the helmet.” Erfaron pointed to the helm on Thranduil’s head.

“Ah,” the guard nodded. “Sorry, sir. I did not notice.”

Everyone knew Silmacil ranked above any one of them and no one had authority to stop them from coming and going anywhere except the king and the Council.

Elrond watched Erfaron exchange a glance and a nod with Thranduil as the gate of the ford opened. Together, Elrond and Thranduil spurred their horses toward the dark forest looming ahead.

\-------

 **Angband** (Sindarin. _Iron Prison_ )--Underground fortress built by Melkor and commanded by Sauron during the Years of the Trees.

 **Thranarin** (Sindarin. _Vigorous Morning_ )--My OC. Thranduil's elder brother and Oropher's first born, killed at Menegroth during the Second Kinslaying when the Noldor attacked Doriath.

 **First Hour** \--Day break


	5. Unexpected Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Elrond finds their way to Durion's place.

**Road to Taurobel. March 26, SA 542**

**THRANDUIL** pulled over once the trees obscured the sight of the fort.

“Why are we stopping?” Elrond, who was following close behind, moved his horse to Thranduil’s side.

“Go back, Elrond. Any further and this will be more than insubordination. This can become… ugly for both of you.” And Thranduil did not want that. He knew what Gil-galad meant to Elrond. And even if that was not so, their duty demanded obedience to the king. For Gil-galad, it would be one thing for him to disobey, but another when it was Elrond. “Let it be enough that you helped me. Why did you anyway?”

“You were alone and in need.”

Thranduil’s heart contracted, and he sucked in a quick breath as Elrond’s answer stung his eyes and nose.

Elrond smiled brilliantly. “And the king, he is more generous of heart than you think. Let’s go.” Elrond turned, but Thranduil held onto Elrond’s rein.

“Thank you, Elrond, but this is enough. Go back.”

Elrond turned, his gray eyes calm as steel. There was Elwing in those evening-gray eyes, and Thranduil realized nothing he could say would change the Half-elven’s mind.

“Don’t blame me later.”

“I already blame you.” Elrond snickered.

Thranduil’s lips quivered.

“All right then, stubborn ass.”

Once they were far enough from the fort to be seen, they flew over the path before them. They didn’t bother trying to hide their tracks. Speed was of an essence, and both knew that any pursuer on their tail would know that they would have gone to Taurobel.

Thranduil whispered to his horse, begging and asking it not to stop, although he knew horses wouldn’t be able to maintain their speed for long. But, if he could, he wanted to place as much distance as he could before the Silmacils were on their tail. 

And those two Silmacils were not ones to trifle with, Thranduil knew the moment he saw them. So, he gave up his first plan of convincing the Royal Guards to allow him some air. He knew all of them and Thranduil was confident he could convince them to let him out on the battlements.

The fort stood at the junction where the two arms of the river met. Coming down from the mountains, the currents of the waters were rough and swift. And the tower which opened to the battlements was tall. They would not expect him to jump from that height of the battlements into the churning river. But Thranduil had done worse and survived. And Aron’s life was at stake. He would have jumped into the river of fire if it meant there was even a slight chance he could escape.

Thranduil slowed the pace when he heard the horse complain between his rough breath.

“Fine. Fine. We’ll take a rest,” he said to the horse. He needed to stop now anyhow. He tried to ignore it, but the itch that started soon after they left the fort had begun to burn.

Thranduil veered off from the road then slowed to head into the edge of the forest where he knew there was a small brook that ran down from the nearby hill to join the river.

“What are you doing?” Elrond slowed and moved closer. The sun was rising, and the forest was a faint green of budding leaves. “We should slow, but we cannot stop. We need to get much distance as possible.” Elrond breathed hard just as his horse did.

“It is usually you who insist we need to let the horses rest.” Thranduil chuckled.

“We usually don’t have a pair of Silmacils coming after us.”

Thranduil jumped off the horse when he spotted the shallow brook.

“Our horses are angry with us as is, and I have to get this helmet off. I can’t take it anymore.”

Thranduil ripped the helmet off his head, threw it on the ground before he dunked his head in the stream. It was itching and burning like ants crawling all over it.

When he lifted his head out of the water, Thranduil found drops of dark blue water stain his hands. He grabbed his hair. His silvery gold locks had turned bright blue.

“Elrond?”

Thranduil turned and found Elrond stepping backward. The Half-elven blinked rapidly. The look on the face of Elrond said enough.

“What did you do? Why is my hair blue?”

“Ah, as you know, I am not very good with herbs and potions. And I was in a hurry. When I was mixing them, they looked black.”

“Elrond Earendilion!”

The Half-elven laughed nervously. “We don’t have much time. We have to find Aron, don’t we? And really, the color shouldn’t last. It will fade soon.” Elrond looked around. “Oh, look. Lemon drops.” Elrond pointed to a dying clump of a thorn bush.

Bright yellow berries, wrinkled and shriveled, clung to the dry stalks. “These have acidic qualities, I believe. As you know I am just learning about the herbs and plants. This could neutralize the bright color.” Elrond gathered the berries and mashed them between his palms.

“You see all the yellow pigment? It will bring it back to its original color or at the least make it golden again.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but it can’t be worse, right? Now bend over.”

Elrond dipped his hand into the water, then poured the yellow liquid onto his hair, but not even a moment passed when the Half-elven stopped with, “Ai, Elbereth!”

“What?”

But, Thranduil could not get up. Elrond pulled his head over to the water and dunk it, rubbing the hair vigorously with both his hands.

“What’s happening?” Thranduil picked up his head once the pressure of Elrond’s hands left.

Elrond grabbed the helmet, then moved over to the horses which were nudging each other after drinking water. “I think the horses are rested, don’t you?”

Thranduil grabbed his wet locks, still dripping water. What he saw made his jaw drop.

“Elrond, why does my hair look red?” It wasn’t red. Rather, it was pale crimson, the color of many wildflowers that bloom in the spring.

“It is too wet. Let it dry. Then, it may become paler and you wouldn’t even notice it. I am sure… I think.”

“Elrond!” Thranduil shot up from where he sat on his knees, wincing from the sudden shot of pain in his arm. He could choke the Half-elven, but as he looked up at Elrond, he saw what he dreaded.

Hurriedly, Thranduil grabbed the bow behind his back, threading the string at the same time.

“What are you doing?” Elrond wrenched the bow out of Thranduil’s hands before he could let an arrow fly. 

“Damn it, Elrond. That was a messenger bird from the fort.”

“I know, but you can’t kill it.”

“I wasn’t going to kill it, stupid. I was going to disorient it. They are onto us.”

“Better move.” Elrond flew onto his horse and Thranduil followed. “The bird will be at the village before us. They will expect us.”

“We are not going to Taurobel.” Thranduil adjusted the speed of the horse into a fast trot.

“What? Where are we going then? We have to track from where they started. We don’t have the information the soldiers from the village have.”

“I know. But Durion would have gone after Aron. I know it. He would expect me. He would have left me something. Besides, Erfaron’s Elves will be waiting for us with the order from the fort to detain us. I am certain; aren’t you?”

In order not to tire the horses over much, they had to keep their pace even. The woodland was open and the growth on the floor was at a minimum, but with trees fallen during the winter and the number of stones and rock on the floor of the forest, they could not gallop through it without harming the horses.

When they were near the village, Thranduil made a sharp right turn and headed into a pine forest.

“Should we not leave the horses here or let them go a different direction to distract the Silmacils?”

“I thought of that. But there will be someone from the village who would know the location of Durion’s house. It is about an hour’s ride from here. On foot, we may lose precious time. Besides, we will go through the pine forest. There should be piles of pine needles on the ground. It will be hard for them to track us without seeking someone from the village first.”

At the edge of the forest, Thranduil let the horses go, telling them to travel further up north before turning back toward the village.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the floor of the forest.

“Secure your pack on your back.” Thranduil slung his pack, securing his sword to it.

“Aren’t we at the house yet? Where is the house?”

Thranduil pointed upward at the large pine tree next to him. In this part of the forest, the pine trees were thick, tall, and grew close together.

“You must be kidding.” Elrond looked up at the tree with dismay.

Thranduil chuckled, knowing how much Elrond disliked climbing and tree-walking pine trees. Compared to the oaks and beech trees with big spreads and sturdy branches, pines tended to be straight with narrow spreading branches which made jumping from one to the other difficult.

When Thranduil reached the first sturdy branch, he waited for Elrond.

“Don’t tell me we climbed this one for the sake of the Silmacils.”

“I don’t want to take any chances.”

Elrond groaned.

They jumped over to the next few trees until Thranduil heard the sound of rushing water. When the scent of bluebells was in the air, Thranduil dropped down onto a small glade next to a shallow waterfall where tiny purple blooms carpeted the grassy floor.

The last remaining sunlight brightened the clearing with its golden light.

“Nice spot.” Elrond nodded approval as he looked about him. “I still don’t see the house.”

Thranduil pointed to a large stump of a dead pine behind Elrond. Twice as tall as Elrond, the upper part of the pine tree broke off and lay next to it. At least, that is what it would look like to Elrond and anyone else who didn’t know what to look for.

“Look at the light falling on the tree stump and focus out.” Thranduil pulled Elrond to a position. “You’ll see it if you know what to look for.”

Elrond’s eyes widened.

“It’s the enchantment. Durion learned how to build wood houses from the Silvan elves. Their construction blends into the forest. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

He and Aron had helped Durion build it. It was the first time he had built anything with his own hands. Aron and he had gathered the woods and dug up the clay from the stream. Durion put the materials together, weaving the spell he had learned from the Wood-elves. 

Thranduil had planned to bring Elrond here one day. The Half-elven had met Durion when he first came to Lindon, but it was a cursory meeting with the Council as a part of the envoy from his father. Durion had gone back to his father and returned two decades ago to settle here for the time being.

“Three of us built it ourselves.” Thranduil puffed out his chest.

“You helped in building that?”

“Yes, I did.” Thranduil beamed. “See that pitched roof? I installed that.”

“I didn’t know you have a skill in building, Thranduil. I thought you mostly wrecked them.”

“Ha, ha! You are so funny, El—” Thranduil stopped, and pulled out his bow. Elrond, being quick, took out his sword also and looked at Thranduil with a frown.

Thranduil lowered his voice.

“I saw a shadow. Someone is inside. If it was Durion, he would not have hidden from me.” Thranduil pointed to the back of the building. “Another door at the back.”

Once Elrond disappeared to the back of the building, Thranduil placed his back to the wall next to the front door of the house, a thick pine bark reinforced with pine plank. Thranduil placed his ear against the wall and listened. It was silent. And yet, he detected a presence.

Placing his dagger within easy reach, Thranduil kicked down the door with his bow at ready.

Inside was softly lit with the fading sunlight from above, but a shadow darted into the back room. Definitely not Durion. But not an Orc either.

“Come out!” Thranduil stashed the bow behind him and took out his dagger at ready.

The shadow stepped out with a bow threaded with an arrow, ready to be released. It was a Green she-elf in her brown leather armor and short bow. Thranduil put away his dagger, but the bow in her hand remained taut and ready.

“What? You are going to shoot an Elf?” Thranduil spoke in Silvan tongue.

“You no Elf. Why your head crimson?” She replied in Sindarin.

“When did having a red hair made an Elf into an enemy?”

“I know what my kins look like. No Elf I know has a crimson hair and that color eyes. You changeling, not Elf. I’m not fooled.”

Thranduil felt his left arm twitch as a pain shot through it. “Drop your bow, damn you. Or you won’t like what I’ll do next.”

The woman stepped back but aimed her bow straight at Thranduil’s heart.

“Excuse the strange colors, mistress.” Elrond stepped out of an open door to Thranduil’s right. “He can be an ass at times, but he is an Elf, all right. More so than I am.”

The huntress moved her bow to Elrond but slackened the hold.

Thranduil tapped his foot. He cranked his neck to one side and wondered whether he should wrench that bow away from her. The Half-Elven sheathed his sword and raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

“We are wearing the King’s uniform.” Elrond smiled as he pointed to his then glanced at Thranduil’s gray leathers. “Well, at least, I am.

“Armor can be stolen,” she said, but she dropped her bow.

“We are looking for Durion,” said Elrond as Thranduil glared at the Green Elf.

“What do you want with him?” she asked. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?” Thranduil frowned. “This is Durion’s house. Aron and I helped him build it.”

The woman cocked her head, then scrutinized him up and down.

“You Thranduil? Lord Oropher’s son?”

“Who is asking?” Thranduil regarded the tiny, muscular woman. While tall for one of the Nandor, she barely reached Thranduil’s shoulder.

“Eryn, daughter of Tathar and wife of Durion.”

Thranduil could not help his jaw drop to the ground. It had been less than a decade since he last saw Durion. Could things have changed so much in a decade?

And as far as he knew, Durion liked delicate women. But the woman in front of him was anything but. Her dark brown hair was braided tightly against her head into two long braids down her back. Each warrior braid was tied with leather strings and adorned with soft feathers of young birds.

Her armor was similar to what _Beril_ wore, but while Beril had willowy and delicate features, there was nothing delicate about Eryn. Her bare upper arms were corded with muscle, and it was apparent she was battle-hardened. In fact, unlike Beril who had been a young elf born in this Age, Eryn was as old as Thranduil, perhaps even older by a few decades.

“Congratulations!” Elrond smiled widely. “I met Durion a century ago, and he was not bonded then. I did not know he was married.” Elrond shot Thranduil a look. “You never told me he got married.”

“Durion said you will come. He said you have a hair like golden moonlight. He should have said hair like the flowers.” The she-elf looked at him, grinning, her eyes twinkling with obvious amusement.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes.

“What else has Durion said about our friend here?” Elrond smiled weakly.

“That he looks like _Araw_ , bites like _Morgoth_ , and talks like _Mandos_.”

“What did he mean by talking like Mandos?” Elrond glanced at Thranduil.

“He doesn’t.” The she-elf laughed out aloud.

Thranduil could feel heat pump through his veins.

“Settle down, Thranduil,” Elrond cooed next to him, patting Thranduil’s back. “There’s nothing untrue in what Durion said.” Elrond grinned ear to ear.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?” Thranduil could tell, as with all Elves that she was married by the gleam in her eyes, but that didn’t mean she was bonded to Durion.

“He said you’ll question my words.” She pulled out a chain from inside her armor. On a gold chain, there hung a familiar signet ring, an ax head on a handle of budding Oak branch. Durion’s family ring. Now that he was the sole survivor of his family, the ring that had once belonged to _Mablung_ now belonged to him. Thranduil knew Durion would never willingly part with that ring.

“Where’s Durion?”

“Gone to rescue his friend.”

“Did he leave something for me?”

“Yes. Me!” The woman smiled brightly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The woman turned then picked up a traveling pack. “I thought you come in the morning when the soldiers come. I ask and they said you not coming. Durion said to wait for you no matter what I hear, so I waited.” The woman picked up a forest green cape hanging on a wall. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Elrond blocked the woman. “The night will be here soon. Isn’t it better to wait until the morning?”

“We are already more than a day behind my husband. And I fear the Orcs were in a hurry.”

“You were tracking with him?” Thranduil asked.

“I was with Durion when he left yesterday, as soon as one of the soldiers left for the fort. I accompanied him all the way to the edge of the forest when he sent me back to wait for you. He said he’ll leave me a mark to follow from there.”

Thranduil glanced at Elrond. “Let’s go then.”

“Wait. We should reassess and think about….”

“No time, Elrond. We’ll do that as we move.”

“But, Baldor and Thoron…”

“If we keep moving and stay ahead of them, they will not catch up to us. And I cannot see why they would stop us once we catch up to the Orcs.”

“But it will be dark soon and this is a forest. I know we are at the end of Stirring and there is not much undergrowth, but we could easily get ourselves lost once the darkness sets in.”

“We have about two hours before the sunsets and four hours until it becomes too dark for us to see.” Eryn shrugged. “I would rather we go as far as we can.” The Green Elf threw Thranduil a filled leather pouch. “I only expected you,” she turned to Elrond, “but not you. You are?”

“Ah, excuse me for forgetting to introduce myself. I am Elrond, son of Earendil.”

The Green-elf raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know Durion had such esteemed friend among his acquaintances.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, noticing how her voice turned more respectful.

“Let’s go then. We need to gain as much ground as we can.” Thranduil turned to go when Elrond pulled him aside.

“We can’t just take her with us, Thranduil,” he whispered.

Thranduil glanced at Eryn who was filling another leather pouch with supplies.

“She tracked these Orcs which means we need not go back to the village for the tracks. She would save us a lot of time.”

“Thranduil, she is your friend’s mate. This is a dangerous mission. Do you really want to risk her safety? These are Orcs that we have to deal with.”

“If you didn’t notice, she is not one of our ladies who are protected from violence. I wager she has seen more battles than you, Elrond. In any case, we could use a good archer. There are no better archers in the world than the Green Elves. Even _Beleg_ ’s master was one of the Nandor.”

Elrond pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“Besides, if Baldor and Thoron are on our tail, it is best that we keep moving. They are only about two hours behind us.”

“We going?” When she was done packing another leather pouch, Eryn handed it to Elrond and picked up her pack again.

“Come on, Elrond.” Thranduil slapped Elrond’s arm. “We need all the help we can get.”

If truth be told, Thranduil would rather that he was on his own. Even Elrond sometimes felt like extra weight. Too many times Elrond nagged needlessly, but he trusted the Half-elven with his life. The woman, however, Thranduil knew nothing about her. And trust didn’t come easily for him. But Aron needed him to be practical now.

Once they were out in the open, the woman took to a run. She was like a young deer and sprinted at incredible speed up and down the hill, through the forest, and down the valley.

“Ai, Belegaer, she is not human.” Elrond huffed as he grabbed Thranduil’s offered hand after running up a steep mountainside.

Thranduil glanced at Eryn who waited for them at the apex of the hilltop. He was used to running through the forest and valleys, but even he had a hard time keeping up with the Green Elf.

“I thought King’s soldiers are mighty warriors.” Eryn’s eyes were laughing.

“Noldor are skilled swordsmen, but their training does not involve running up and down a mountainside. They have horses for that. Besides, Elrond is wearing plate armor, unlike us.” Thranduil looked down at the woman, disliking the laughter in her voice.

“Well, there are no horses here.” The woman snickered before she turned and pointed to a valley below where the woodland ended.

A flat plain spread wide before a sparse forest of pines and spruce dotted over rougher and higher terrain. “That is where I left Durion.”

With the sun behind the Blue Mountains on their backs, it was already hard to see, but Thranduil estimated at least another good three hours on foot. He glanced at Elrond who was clearly exhausted. And, he was tired, too.

“Soon, it will be too dark.” Elrond stepped next to Thranduil and looked down. “We need to find a place to rest.”

The woman nodded. “Perhaps somewhere to rest down there before it gets too dark to see.” She pointed to the valley. “Among the grass?”

“I rather stay here in the high ground. It is easier to defend if we were to be attacked.” Thranduil looked around.

They were standing on a large smooth rock. Nearby, there was no growth. Only several large boulders, half-buried on the ground, stood around it. If there’s a threat, it would have to come from below, and they could use those boulders as a shield.

Elrond took a seat on the rock. “Hopefully, the Orcs are too busy being chased to think about attacking.”

“Do you cook?” Eryn sat down next to Elrond and handed Elrond a pan. “We may not get a chance to eat anything warm for a while.”

“Why can’t you cook?” Thranduil snatched the pan and handed it back to Eryn. Durion probably already told her that he was a terrible cook, Thranduil gathered by how she didn’t ask him.

“Well, do the women of Sindar and Noldor cook?” Eryn asked.

Thranduil knew what she was asking. Normally, women baked and men cooked. Mostly. But, at the barracks at the White City, the main cook had been an elderly female.

“Durion cooks at my house.” Eryn shrugged.

“Well, I am not Durion and neither is Elrond.”

“I don’t mind,” Elrond said taking the pan from Eryn’s hand. “I love to cook.”

“We shouldn’t use fire or light anyhow. It would be like announcing our presence to everyone else out there.” Thranduil scanned the dark valley below. Everything was quiet, not a sound could be heard.

The night fell like a mist down the valley, sweeping the trees and blotting out all the colors. It was as if there was no one in the world except the three of them.

The sky filled with thousands of stars. They didn’t know who started first, but they sang, softly at first, but as the night deepened and the silver twinkle of the stars glittered, their song rose fiercely in the dark, intermingled into one melody, in three different Elven tongues, Silvan, Sindarin and Quenya, but one music and in one heart. They sang to _Elbereth_ , the giver of the light and the listener of their woes.

And Thranduil prayed that he will find Aron alive.

\------

 **Mablung** (Sindarin, _heavy hand_ )—Captain of Doriath under King Thingol. He was one of two (other being Beleg) most well known Sindarin warriors from Doriath. He died at Menegroth defending the treasury (which contained the Silmaril Luthien brought) when the Dwarves attacked and sacked the city. In my story, he is Durion’s uncle (more about that later)

 **Beleg** (Sindarin, _mighty_ )—captain and march warden of Doriath along with Mablung. He is known for his unmatched skill in archery. Turin killed Beleg unwittingly while the latter tried to rescue him from the Orcs. Read more about Turin and Beleg from Children of Hurin.

 **Araw** (Sindarin, _Orome_ )—Huntsman of the Valar. It was he who discovered the Elves first in the Middle-earth and told the Valar of them. He also led them to the West. He loves horses, hounds and all trees and flowers, and is known for his terrible wrath. He is referred also as Tauron, Lord of the Forest.

 **Morgoth** (Sindarin, _Black Foe_ )—Refers to Melkor, the first Dark Lord and Sauron’s chosen master.

 **Mandos** (Quenya, _Castle of Custody_ )—refers to Namo, the Doomsman of the Valar who keeps the souls of the dead.

 **Beril** —my OC from Part 1 of the story, Green Elf, spouse of Astarno, a Noldorin warrior and a follower of Maedhros.

 **Elbereth** (Sindarin, _star queen_ )—refers to Varda, the queen of the Valar and wife of Manwe, the most beloved of all the Valar by the Elves.


	6. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron has a plan and Thranduil and Elrond need to make a vital decision.

**Forochel. March 29, SA 542**

**MAIRON** smiled as the two Elves entered the ice chamber. The thick fog swirled all around like the puff of steam when hot metal meets cold water, but thicker and murkier.

Mairon moved the air about the chamber so they could see just a glimpse, a flash of the long dark hair, a flutter of the torn green tunic.

They came, the older one limping and the younger one looking around with eyes full of fear. In their hands, one held an Orc sword and the other a dagger, both stained with fresh black blood.

“You see a way out? Is there one?”

“We in here, aren’t we? If there’s a way in, then there’s a way out. Wait, what is that?”

They stopped a few feet from Mairon and squinted, trying to see through the fog.

Mairon hung his head, allowing the long strands of hair to cover his face. He had diminished his form. He had four hundred years to make the plan, and the change was rifling, only in the color of the hair and in stature-- smaller bones, finer lines, shorter height. But the children of Eru had a mind of their own and had an excessive imagination. And even for the Elves who see further and deeper than the _Secondborns,_ they saw first with their eyes. A slight suggestion was enough for the assumptions to take over and fill whatever details they needed to see.

Even in this limited state, he could communicate with his Orcs and order them about. But he could not move and could not use his hands. Besides that, the two swords that held him here did not prevent him in any other way. The pain, however, was excruciating. It radiated through his arms to the rest of his body. But he had been through worse under his master. It was Melkor who first taught him pain and how to wield it.

“It’s an _elleth_.” The younger one hurried over to Mairon’s side. “What have those monsters done to you?”

Mairon looked up at the Elf with moist eyes. There was no need to waste words.

Had they been the Elves of _Valinor_ , they might have sensed his power which he could not hide in his own body, but these Elves were not of _Aman_. They were not raised in the hallowed light of Yavanna’s trees. Even the Noldor who grew under them had lost much of their light and power over the years spent in Middle-earth.

Mairon looked toward the swords. Their eyes followed him.

“It’s a sword. Two swords. Are they made of light?” The younger one touched the hilt made of mithril and white wood. “I have never seen a sword like this. Are they Dwarven?” The younger turned to the older Elf.

“Not Dwarven. Perhaps Noldor. They were crafters of surpassing talent.”

“It hurts,” Mairon whispered.

“Don’t worry, lass. We will help you and keep you safe.” The young one tried to pull out the sword in front of him, but it did not budge.

The older Elf tried the sword on his side, but he had no better luck. “They are embedded in the stone. I don’t know if we can take them out.”

“Perhaps try both at the same time?” Mairon suggested.

Each took the hilt, then looking at each other, they strained against them. Unlike before, the swords slid out with ease.

“Ah, perfect.” Mairon massaged the upper arms where the sword penetrated. As soon as the blades slid out, the pain and the constant hum that had almost driven him mad calmed. Feeling more like himself, Mairon let out a sigh of relief. Once he opened the door to the chamber, he could communicate with his Orcs, but he had been unable to leave.

Mairon reached out and the two golden collars the Orcs had salvaged from the outer cave and placed just inside the door flew through the air and landed on his outstretched hands.

“Let me give you gifts for your noble deed,” Mairon said as he clasped the golden collar around each of the Elves.

“Gift is unnecessary,” the older Elf said. “We should look to your wound, child.” As he said so, he tried to remove the collar, but that was not up to him now.

“Kneel.” It was spoken softly but potent, nevertheless. The two Elves gasped as their knees bent and hit the ice floor with a thud.

Mairon rotated his head as the skin of his upper arms mended as he flooded his body with his power and filled the ice chamber with the song of power. The air crackled and sizzled with the invisible aura that was an extension of himself. He shook off the frail form he wore and let his chosen shape take over.

Long strands of hair, red as blood and golden as flames of a forge, spread out as if they had a life of their own, glinting like the sparks of fire among the pale gray of the fog.

Mairon stretched his tall, lithe frame as the gray mists swirled all around. When he was back to himself, he turned to face two pairs of rounded eyes filled with shock and horror.

“What what…” the older Elf’s voice shook. “What are you?”

“Silence!”

The Elf’s mouth clamped shut and the younger ones’ mouth thinned into a line.

Mairon spread his hands and the double blades flew up into his hands. But the moment he touched the hilt, he felt the same sizzling pain that had held him. Mairon grimaced as the blades fell onto the ice floor.

“Pick them up.” The two Elves picked up the double swords, then withdrew as Mairon waved them away. The swirling mists swallowed them.

“Finally.” Mairon flexed his arms. The wounds on the arms were minor. Only a bit of time would mend them before his full strength returned, more than enough time before the arrival of the Silmacils.

His Orcs and the Men had been busy building the traps. The only thing left was for him to cast the spell on the rest of the gold collars. Forty at the most. But he knew Gilmagor. He would not risk having all of them in one place. That cunning old Elf would keep some around the king. That may leave twenty? But whether twenty or forty, Mairon would be ready for them. He rubbed his hands together with glee.

He walked over to the pile of bones that was Uluch.

“What a waste.”

Mairon was glad he had taken more of Uluch’s blood before she betrayed him. But there was no more of that now. He would have to be careful about the amount of blood he uses. Had Thranduil answered his call, this would have been so much easier. But, that Sinda was stubborn and difficult to control. And the Silmacils would be harder than Thranduil. Remembering Beril, Mairon grimaced. The collar was not perfect. The Silmacils were the Noldorin warriors from Valinor. They were stronger in power than Thranduil and certainly had a stronger will than that puny Green Elf. But, he had found a way.

The Elves may have thought they could hold him here forever, but they had underestimated him. Mairon had cracked open the door to this chamber several decades ago, whispering instructions to his Orcs who tested his theories and enabled his plans. And he was ready for the Silmacils now. And once the great Silmacils bent their knees to him in obedience, who could stop him?

Mairon laughed out aloud.

“Show me,” he commanded as he linked himself to the eyes of the crows and the Orcs.

**Northeast of Hills of Evendim. March 30, SA 542**

**ELROND** squinted, trying to see through the fog. Thick gray mists blanketed the entire forest below them, and he could see nothing except the occasional branches that poked through the cloud-like fog. He glanced at Thranduil, who stood next to him, his face stoic and unreadable. The Sinda splayed his fingers wide then clenched them.

The weather had been anything but cooperative. They were on the trail for three full days and the past two days rained, punctuated with strong winds. The temperature dipped and the rain and the wind had forced them to take shelter. Last night, the sky was clear and bright giving them hope, but this morning the world turned into a misty sea. 

They had passed through the valley to the northern hills of Evendim. Because Thranduil insisted on staying on high ground, they climbed a story-high cliff to settle for the night on the rocks overlooking the spread of forest before them. Just below the cliff, at the entrance to the forest, they had found a remnant of where the soldiers from the fort had spent the night.

Eryn, who had the eyesight of a hawk, had found the marks Durion left and they tracked through the valley. The trail led northeast through a thick forest interspersed with rocky hills.

“It is still early in the morning, Thranduil. When the sun rises, the fog will disperse. Then we will be right on track. Mistress Eryn thinks they are less than a half-day ahead of us. Isn’t that so, Mistress Eryn?” Elrond padded Thranduil’s back, trying to reassure him.

“If the weather cooperates with us. If it rains or worse, we may never catch up to Durion,” Eryn said with a sigh as she looked up at the dark gray sky.

Elrond glanced at Thranduil worriedly.

“How did you meet Durion?” Thranduil suddenly turned to Eryn.

“You’ll have to ask him. He may not want me to say,” Eryn chuckled.

“All right then. When did you meet him?”

“Thranduil.” Elrond frowned in warning.

“I don’t mind.” Eryn smiled widely. “Durion say he just finished building house, so it must be about a decade ago.”

“And you married when?”

“Thranduil, stop.” It was not polite to ask about personal matters unless it was offered. Elrond knew Thranduil knew that well. But, irritated Thranduil was like a cranky child, a child about to stir trouble.

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask,” Eryn said.

“Let’s cook that mushrooms you found, Mistress Eryn.” Elrond grabbed the pile of dried branches they had gathered the night before to use for fire. “Remember the tree mushrooms, Thranduil?” Elrond gave Eryn a smile. “He loves tree mushrooms.” The Half-elven piled the branches together. “Come help me light them, won’t you?” Elrond took out his firestones to strike them together, but Thranduil grabbed Elrond’s hands.

“What?”

“Shhh.” Thranduil tilted his head as if he was listening to something. “On the ground,” Thranduil whispered as he squatted down low.

Leaving the branches, Elrond followed after Thranduil, pulling Eryn down with him.

“What are you…” Eryn frowned, but Elrond placed his finger in front of his lips.

Elrond trusted Thranduil’s senses when they were in a forest. Just as his special senses were most acute with people, Thranduil was never wrong when it came to the whispers of the forest. The woman pursed her lips, but lay flat on the ground, taking out her dagger.

“Orcs?” Elrond whispered to Thranduil who lay flat next to Eryn.

Thranduil shook his head. The look of worry in Thranduil’s eyes said it all.

Elrond cursed silently. How could they have caught up to them so fast? The last time they saw them, they were half a day away.

“Horses. I hear horses. It is probably your soldiers.” Eryn raised her upper body and squinted into the swirling fog below. “We should let them know…” she moved to sit up, but Thranduil grabbed her arm.

“We are going to stay very quiet and not move or make any sounds. Is that clear?” Thranduil’s voice was full of warning.

Elrond could feel Eryn stiffen as the air about her ignited.

“Please, Mistress Eryn. He knows what he is doing.” Elrond met Eryn’s eyes. 

The Green Elf sucked in a quick breath before lowering to her previous position.

The forest in front of them was quiet. Not even a scurry sound could be heard except for the occasional cracking you normally hear in the woods.

If the forest wasn’t so quiet, Elrond would have thought Thranduil had heard wrong, but a forest was never this quiet. The forest and the animals within it seemed to hold their breath.

They stayed down for a long while. A lifetime seemed to have passed. Elrond could feel Eryn fidget next to him. The Half-elven looked across the women to Thranduil. His hair, which had turned into a deeper rose, stirred as the winds swept by them. Among the tendrils of thinning fog, the reddish color stood out.

“Thranduil,” Elrond hissed, pointing at his head. Eryn pulled Thranduil’s gray cape over the Sinda’s head. Thranduil fixed his hood over his head as he glared at Elrond. The Half-elven shrank into his position. He had forgotten about the hair and it seemed so did Thranduil. When Elrond didn’t feel the glare from his friend, he sneaked a look. Thranduil frowned with an intense look of concentration when something whistled through the woods.

Two beams of light cut through the dense fog like blades, whizzing between the trees. They were two fist-size balls of light.

A loud caw rang out as birds, black as tar, flew up from the thickness of the fog into the sky.

Elrond looked up. There were about a dozen crows. Their cawing shook the silence and from the fog, arrows whistled through to follow after them. One after another, crows shrieked as they were pierced and fell out of the sky to be swallowed by the ocean of mists. But three of them escaped, flying far and away. He had not known there were so many crows about them.

Elrond turned back to the forest below. The fog had thinned and among the swirls of the gray mist, he saw two figures each on top of their horses. They raised their hands and the balls of lights that whizzed about the treetops returned to their hands. It was Baldor and Thoron.

Taking in a sharp breath, Elrond ducked down when the two Silmacils looked about them.

From somewhere north of them, a growl followed a screech and a loud grunt. The two Silmacil turned and moved away.

Three of them remained silent for a while longer until Thranduil sat up.

“I have to check something. That didn’t sound like a normal bear growl.” Thranduil threaded his bow before climbing down.

“Don’t, Thranduil. What if they are still down there?”

“They are gone. But, the bears, they are still there.”

“Wait. Don’t kill the bears.” Eryn got up, but Thranduil reached the floor and had moved into the forest. The fog had thinned, only a swirl of silken tendrils underfoot as the sun rose up shining through the thick clouds. “They are not normal bears.” Eryn tried to tell Thranduil, but the Sinda disappeared among the canopy of trees. “Shouldn’t we go with him?” Eryn turned to Elrond.

Elrond sat up. “Thranduil will return soon. We should wait for him here. But what did you mean they are not normal bears?”

“Don’t know for sure. Just talk from the hunters. There are bears in the north that change skins.”

“What do you mean ‘change skins’?”

Eryn shrugged. “They change to look like the Secondborns.”

“How is that possible?”

“Don’t know.” Eryn shrugged, sitting down next to Elrond. “I’ve only heard about them. But those two warriors, aren’t they your people?”

Elrond looked away. He didn’t know what to tell her. “We…ah, we aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Oh.” A look of understanding dawned on her, but she frowned again. “Why would they stop you? Durion’s friend, isn’t he a soldier? I would think your people want him found.”

“It’s a long story.”

Eryn’s eyes were full of questions, but she did not ask them. She stuffed things back into her pack, ready to leave. “Your friend, is he born with that hair color? I have never seen a color like that.”

Elrond felt his cheeks burn. “That was a mistake. He has very light hair, and I was trying to darken them.”

Eryn chuckled. “I thought maybe he was related to someone I have met back in _Ossiriand_ although his hair was much more like the burgundy leaves of autumn.”

Elrond stiffened. He took in a quick breath to calm his booming heart. Taking a lungful of air, Elrond turned his back to Eryn and gathered the items about him. He wanted to ask about Maedhros. Elrond was certain that was who Eryn meant.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Eryn said.

“Don’t mind him. He is like that with people he does not know. It takes time for him to warm up.” Elrond forced himself to put Maedhros away. This was not the time nor a place to talk about his foster father.

“He doesn’t trust me, does he?”

“Trust is something he does not give easily.” Elrond stuffed the things into the pack. “Believe me, Mistress Eryn. Do not think it is you that is making him the way he is. He will come around.” At least, with time, but Elrond did not say that.

“How about you? Are you suspicious of me, too?” When Eryn asked, Elrond turned to her. She drew her knees to her and rested her head over them. Her eyes were the gray of the river rocks.

“I know you do not have any nefarious intentions. That is good enough for me.”

Eryn smiled widely.

“You are nice. I knew it immediately. But…” she looked down at the cliff. “He is not very likable. But Durion thinks the world of him. I want to try, for his sake, but I don’t see much to like.” Eryn smiled weakly. “I’m not usually like that.”

Elrond did not know what to say. He could understand. He did not like Thranduil when he first met him. And he had not been the only one who thought so.

“He is difficult to like,” Elrond admitted. “But what you see is not all that he is. Do you like chestnuts, Mistress Eryn?”

“Chestnuts?”

“Yes. You know how thorny their outer skin is?”

Eryn nodded.

“But once those outer thorns are shed, you find a shiny nut with beautiful sheen inside. But even that, it is only a shell, one that is difficult to peel. And if you manage, you find another layer of bitter skin that is even more difficult to handle. But, if you succeed in peeling them, you’ll find a nut that is sweet and good.”

“Hmmm. So, have you gotten past that bitter inner skin?”

Elrond shook his head. “I like to think I have, but you know how hard it is to get to all of them.”

“I never liked chestnuts,” she said. “Too much work.”

Elrond smiled. “You don’t know what you are missing. All nuts are hard to crack. And while others return little for the hard work, with chestnuts, you know the work was worth it.”

A bird twittered, a call of a fellow warrior.

Elrond looked down. Thranduil stood there. He waved at them to come down.

Eryn picked up her pack. “I heard that you can peel them easily by roasting them. Maybe all we need is a good fire.” She grinned as she climbed down the cliff.

“I got ourselves a ride. Let’s go.” Thranduil took his pack from Elrond.

“What do you mean ride?” Eryn asked.

“Just follow.” Thranduil jumped up onto a tree next to him.

They had no choice but to climb after him. Where Thranduil took them, two large moose stood there.

“What in Belegaer, Thranduil!” Elrond couldn’t say more as Thranduil jumped onto the back of one.

“They agreed to give us a ride to the other end of the forest. The Silmacils are not too far from us. If we were to walk out of here, they would know which direction we went.”

“They would know anyway.” Elrond sighed. “They know we are tracking Aron. They only needed to track the soldiers and hunters who went after Aron.”

“Precisely. They will follow the trail. But we will cut across the forest and pick up the trail from outside. There is a rocky terrain where the forest ends and another track of forest starts. There may be caves there, the kind where Orcs would prefer to rest.”

“Wouldn’t they know about that, too?”

“Yes, but they are meticulous. At least, Thoron is. He will take the time to check each trail to make sure they didn’t miss anything. They are on their horses, and they know we are on foot.”

Thranduil offered his hand for Elrond. Eryn approached the other animal slowly. She hesitated but got on the back of the animal when it stood quietly. As soon as they did that, both moose took to a run.

The trees sped past them as the two animals broke into a sprint. Elrond hung on to Thranduil who seems to whisper into the ear of the animal.

Elrond bit down on his back teeth. He had never run through the forest at such speed before. He wondered how Thranduil was doing this. Elrond knew Thranduil’s special talents lay with the trees. And for a while, he thought Thranduil’s ability extended to the animals, that he had learned the language of the animals as had Celegorm and some Green Elves. But Thranduil did not speak a separate language. It was as if he understood their tongue. Perhaps it was part of his talents, but talents began at birth. And they grew stronger as your powers grew. Like any skill, those special talents became stronger with age and use. But, it seemed to Elrond that Thranduil’s ability to communicate with these animals just suddenly happened.

Thranduil had told him he learned to speak to the birds and other little forest critters from Lady Melian. But that had not included bigger animals. The ability to speak to these bigger animals seemed to have begun after they returned from the Dwarven ruins.

With a bound and a leap, the two moose carried them outside the forest in a matter of minutes. The moose dropped them off at the beginning of craggy landscape, the last remnant of the Hills of Evendim before a stretch of a large tract of the verdant forest to the east and a thin line of the evergreen-dominated boreal forest to the north.

“I hope we get to them before they disappear among those pines. They will be harder to track, even if they are Orcs, with pine needles all over the floor.” Thranduil sighed, his eyes dark with worry as he traced the area.

With large and small rocks tangled into a large mess in strange shapes, everything looked gray and much like everything else. Just beyond the tangled rocks, several large pines stood.

“There!” Eryn shouted. From where they were, Elrond did not see anything out of ordinary. But Eryn’s face flushed as she jumped down and ran to the group of pines. The woman certainly had keen eyesight.

The place was a small grove where several pines stood like a wall. Upturned rocks strewn on the ground were marked with dents and grooves, spattered here and there with black and red blood. Nearby trees had chunks of barks torn. One of the young trees stood slanted, its limb cracked and dented as if something of great force struck it.

Tracking was not Elrond’s specialty, but even to his inexperienced eyes, he could tell there had been a battle here.

Thranduil skipped from one area to another, his lips thin, his eyes glowing like a naked blade. Frown sat on his brow like dark clouds.

“What do you see, Mistress Eryn?” He turned suddenly and asked the Green Elf.

“Uh, there was a battle?”

“Yes, yes. What else?”

“No one died.” She looked around the grove.

Thranduil stopped, then looked at Eryn steadily.

“How many left with Durion?” Thranduil asked after a moment of silence.

“Three guards and three hunters.”

“So few?” Elrond was surprised. “According to Officer Harnen, there were quite many Orcs.”

“Our village not big. We knew the fort would send aid, but we needed enough strength within the village. About a week ago, we sent out our hunters and some of them had not returned.”

“Send out hunters?” Elrond blinked. “I thought Green Elves did not eat meat? And with the New Year only a few days away, shouldn’t the hunters have been recalled? Especially with the Orc attack?”

“Not hunt animals to eat like your people do. We had wolves attack children more than a week before the Orc attack. Hunters went out to deal with them. They on their way, except for two. They did not return, but maybe they returned now.”

“Two went missing?” Thranduil tilted his head. “Why didn’t Harnen mention that?”

“He arrived the day before the Orc incident. He didn’t know about the wolves.”

“How about the soldiers from the fort? How many went after Durion and his hunters?” Thranduil began to pace, and Elrond wondered what his friend was thinking.

“Twenty came and ten went after the trackers.”

“So, seventeen. They all converged here. But they separated into two groups in different directions.” Thranduil pointed to two different directions.

“Durion went this way,” Eryn pointed to where a young tree with the cracked limb stood. Many heavy feet had trampled on the dry grass about the tree. The track led east to the forest budding with green leaves.

Much fewer people went the other way, toward the northeast to the boreal forest of pines and spruce.

Elrond looked up and saw fear in Thranduil’s eyes.

“If we take a wrong turn now, we will lose Aron.” Thranduil was trying his best to keep cool, but Elrond heard the tremor in his voice. He understood. Orcs rarely keep their prisoners alive for more than a week.

* * *

 **Secondborn** \--refers to Men. Elves were created first, so they are called Firstborn.

 **elleth** (Sindarin, _Elf-maid_ )

 **Valinor/ Aman** \--Valinor refers to the lands of Valar. The continent where Valinor exists is called Aman. It is the home of Valar and the Eldar who left Middle-earth.

 **Ossiriand** (Sindarin, _Land of Seven Rivers)_ \--eastern region of Beleriand with seven rivers running through it. It is a wooded region where, with the permission of Thingol, Nandor led by Denethor settled. These Elves were later known as the Green Elves.


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil catches up to the soldiers they were tracking.

**South of Forochel. March 30, SA 542**

**THRANDUIL** glanced at Eryn. Just as he feared, once they entered the forest of mostly pines and spruce, the trail became harder to see. Leaves, wet from the previous two days of rain, covered the floor like a thick rug.

They had run several _leagues_ since leaving the scene of the battle. Thranduil looked up past the canopy of the trees. It should be well past midday now, but you could not tell by the frowning sky above. Although fogs dissipated, everything looked dark and gray.

The forest was strangely silent, even the trees. No birds stirred, no movements of animals. Only the occasional creak and snap of the branches disturbed the silence. It was as if all life in the forest disappeared, and they were the only ones left in the world. And yet, Thranduil felt as if he was being watched.

Perhaps it was Baldor and Thoron. Thranduil scanned the cold forest once again. Were those two Silmacils watching them? Earlier in the morning, when he looked up, Thranduil thought Thoron's eyes met his. It was brief, just a passing moment before Thoron turned away, but Thranduil could not shake the feeling the Noldorin warrior saw him. But if that was so, where were they now?

 _Help me, please._ Thranduil touched a young spruce nearest him, his hand sliding over its rough bark. _If you have seen the Orcs or others of our people, please help me find them._

But the tree trembled under his hand.

_What frightens you?_

The tree would not say.

"Do you see anything?" Thranduil turned to Eryn, who had her head on the ground, searching for the tracks. "I see nothing. The floor is too wet and too thickly carpeted."

Eryn shook her head, her lips puffed out into a pout. The Green Elf was not at all what Thranduil expected. With each passing day, Thranduil was convinced that Eryn was not who she seemed to be. He wasn't even sure she was a good archer. The only thing Thranduil was certain about Eryn was her exceptional eyesight and stamina.

"Don't see nothing worth noting, but I sure they went this way. The Orcs have a strange stench to them and I smell here, although it faint. If they went through here, we'll find them." Eryn sprinted away.

"Did you ask the trees?" Elrond moved to his side and whispered in _Quenya_.

Thranduil shook his head. Fear knotted his stomach, doubt and fear warring inside. He wasn't sure whether it was because Aron was in mortal danger or because there was some unknown threat about them. He took in a sharp breath to clear his head.

Dull pain flashed through his arm, and he grimaced. Thranduil tried to ignore it, but the pain was constant now. He splayed his fingers wide then clenched them, trying to ease the painful seizure that swept through his arm. He steeled himself to prevent his other hand from rubbing away the pain. He didn't want Elrond to know.

Eryn buzzed about, sprinting up and down the hillside. Nothing seems to dampen her spirit or stamina. The woman certainly had a lot of energy.

"What if we took the wrong trail?" Thranduil closed his eyes briefly.

"If Aron and Gwinion are on the other trail, our soldiers will find them. Greater numbers went that way, remember? You said only four of ours came this way."

"And perhaps a hunter or two. Their tracks are almost impossible to detect."

"But not more than by few. I know your skill. You are rarely wrong. And we have Eryn. It matches her assessment that about twenty Orcs went this way. That means our people will face three to one odd. We will be more useful here."

"Yes, if we can find the trail. With all these wet leaves on the ground…" Thranduil kicked a wet clump by his feet, then glanced at Eryn who was far ahead of them, climbing the rocky hillside. "And I am beginning to think she is not even an archer, at least not a reliable one."

Elrond let out a long sigh. "Come, Thranduil. Can you not be so suspicious? She is your friend's wife. He chose her. Isn't that good enough to trust her? Do you not trust your friend?"

"I trust Durion. But I don't know her."

He wanted to trust her. She was friendly, smart, and skilled. But looks could deceive, and Thranduil knew the cruel cost of a blind trust. He had lost too much and too many by trusting the wrong people. He had sworn that he would never be so naïve again.

As to Eryn, he honestly wanted to like her. If not for the woman's sake, then for Durion. Thranduil understood that she may have been what Durion had referred to when he talked about a 'surprise.' And she was a Green-elf, more akin to him than any Noldo. No Green-elf had ever done him wrong. Still, something bothered him.

"She is holding something back."

"You are one to talk," Elrond snorted. "Perhaps she could feel you don't trust her."

"Don't you find it strange? Why does she insist on speaking in Sindarin and not in her own tongue? She even sings to Elbereth in Sindarin."

"Well, why did you sing it in Silvan that first night when you normally sing in Sindarin."

"I was trying to lead her to sing it in her tongue. But, she only speaks a word here or there. And I am sure you noticed the _Doriathrin_ accent, did you not?"

Elrond shrugged. "She has been with Durion for a decade. Doriathrin accent is distinct. She probably picked it up from her husband."

Eryn did not live at Menegroth, that was apparent by the way she spoke. But most Green Elves who lived in Doriath lived outside the great city. They did not like being surrounded by stones. Even Glineth, who served his family for years, never slept inside Menegroth. But it wasn't about her lack of eloquence when she spoke. Eryn was not born a noble, Thranduil perceived, but that was not what bothered him.

"But how about the way she handles her weapon?"

Weapons are the lifeline to a warrior. Keeping their weapons well cared for was not only practical, it was necessary. A dull or broken weapon meant life or death. Whenever they had time, every warrior checked their weapons, honed them, or oil them as necessary to keep them at their optimal condition.

"She carries her bow already strung. On her back. In the rain. Who does that?"

"You need to trust people more, Thranduil." Elrond shook his head. "You don't trust enough."

"And you trust too much. All I am saying is that not everything looks all right to me."

"Maybe Green-elves found a permanent spell to keep water out of their bows and arrows." Elrond shrugged as if it was nothing. "Maybe they found a way to keep their bowstrings from getting wet and becoming useless? They are the best archers, you said. Perhaps they know something we don't. We still don't know much about them. They are called the 'hidden people' for a reason, Thranduil. We cannot assume anything."

Elrond was probably right. Thranduil stretched the muscles of his left arm. He knew Elrond's special talents and knew he should trust the Half-elven when it came to people, but Elrond tended to see everyone as good first, until they gave him a reason to think otherwise. That seemed like a good way for one to be betrayed, lied to, or worse, used.

"If you feel so strongly, try talking to her instead of making assumptions. She is one of us. If we can't trust our own people, who will we trust? It is precisely this mentality that causes division." Elrond sighed. "Isn't it bad enough that the Dwarves think we had betrayed them? Do we need to be suspicious of each other?"

Thranduil rubbed at the back of his head. Elrond was right. He usually was.

"Wait, where is Eryn?" Elrond nudged Thranduil. "She was here a moment ago."

A dread seized Thranduil, and he hurried up the rocky hill, followed closely by Elrond. At the top of the hill, Eryn stood in the middle of a fallen tree trunk, dried white and pale, naked of its bark. Half of it hung precariously over a cliff.

Thranduil approached the edge of the hill and looked down. The side of the hill which sat on a large boulder had collapsed, creating a drop of several stories. The chunks of boulders and earth had tumbled a quarter league below onto a narrow strip of an open glade at the edge of the forest, strewn with rocks and low growing bushes. Occasional trees marked the line where the forest ended and the barren upland began, beyond which was hidden behind the grayness of the clouds.

"We have to go around that way." She pointed to west where the hill sloped more gently. "I found muddy tracks that led down. Very steep slope but not as steep as this." Eryn chewed on her lower lip.

"What is it you are not telling me?" Thranduil asked.

Eryn turned and looked up at him. She seemed to hesitate a moment. "The wolves," she pointed to Thranduil's right. A pack of wolves, not one but two separate groups were on their way, each spread wide among the trees as if they were in the middle of a hunt, trying to herd their prey. It would not have been unusual except there were too many of them, and Thranduil could not see any animal they were preying on.

"You think they are targeting our people?"

"Not that many wolves hunt together. And the tracks, it leads down there where the wolves seem to head…" she chewed on her lip again. "Not sure. I could be seeing too much into this."

"No. You are probably right," Thranduil determined after watching the wolves skulk among the bushes. Thranduil scanned the woodland in front of him.

"If you look at the direction those wolves are taking, they are heading this way," Elrond who caught up to them said.

"There!" Sharp-eyed as ever, Eryn pointed to an area just below them.

Far below the crag where they stood, there was a movement among the bushes. About a score of Orcs was engaged in a battle. Their armor was covered in mud which made it difficult to notice them among the grays of the rocks and the black and brown of the earth. Opposing them were seven Elves, four in the king's plate armor. The Orcs outnumbered the Elves three to one, but the Elves were standing their ground, but barely. The Elves were also covered in mud as if they had tumbled on them, making them blend into the surrounding elements.

She behaved questionably at times, but Eryn's eyesight was admirably sharp. Thranduil knew they would not have caught up to those who went before them without her.

Among the Elves, one of them had a hair lighter than all of them. Thranduil's heart skipped when he spotted him.

"It's Aron." Thranduil swallowed a lump and blinked away the sting in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" Elrond stepped closer to the edge to look more closely.

"I'm certain."

"The wolves, they have started to run," Eryn said.

"They will turn the tide." Elrond's anguished voice slapped Thranduil's excited mind into focus.

One of the Elves must have seen the wolves coming behind them. He disengaged from the scuffle, took out a horn and blew a familiar note. He was calling for any fellow warriors for help. The clear notes resounded around the forest.

Thranduil wasn't sure if anyone besides them would have heard the sound, though. The others would be too far away.

As if the sound of the horn called for them, the wolves picked up speed. In a few minutes, they would overwhelm the already besieged Elves.

"We have to get down there."

"We wouldn't make it in time," Eryn said her face dark and grave. "We have to go further down the hill before the slope becomes gentle enough to climb down. Even if we are at our top speed, it will take close to an hour to get down there."

"Thranduil." Elrond's hand dug painfully into Thranduil's upper arm. He looked up where Elrond pointed, and his heart turned cold.

"Oh, no." Eryn hid her mouth behind her hands.

Out of the gray clouds of the upland where the line of forest faded into clouds, a horde of wargs were coming this way and behind them a company of Orcs, at least three score of them. They were only about three leagues away. Orcs may take up to two hours, but the wargs, they were running. They would be here within an hour.

Thranduil's heart almost stopped.

"We have to aid them, find a way to warn them before it is too late."

Thranduil looked around him, his heart boomed, deafening all sounds. He glanced at the wolves which were almost upon the group fighting below them. Behind the pack of wolves, an enormous bear rushed after them.

"Let's go straight down. It is the only way. We can safeguard their back from the wolves. We will need to end this engagement as quickly as possible and find a more suitable place to face the oncoming horde."

"Straight down? You not making sense. See the drop? All those rocks and the wet grasses." Eryn waved her arms around. "One wrong step and we tumble down and get smashed on those rocks."

"Mistress Eryn is right, Thranduil. It is madness to go straight down. It is too steep. If we injure ourselves on the way, we wouldn't be able to help anyone. We have to trust that they will hold on until we get down there. Safely."

Thranduil took out his sword and chopped down the small branches on the side of the dead tree trunk.

"Help me seal the wood."

"Thranduil, please. Listen to reason."

"You crazy. Oh, Durion warned me. You are mad." Eryn was babbling, but Thranduil ignored her and grabbed the oil in his pack.

Thranduil poured the oil onto the dry side of the tree trunk.

"Seal as in…" Elrond frowned.

"The way we seal the bows and strings to keep the water out." He didn't have time to explain.

"But with the wet grass that would make the tree trunk…slippery!"

Thranduil thanked the Valar for Elrond who understood quickly.

"Instead of going down this cliff, Thranduil, let's ride the trunk down the slope of the hill following the tracks. It is gentler so there is less likelihood of something going wrong. If we slide down the slope we could arrive in good time to help them fight off the wolves. They will need to hold off for just a few minutes longer."

"Few minutes could mean life or death, Elrond. This will work. Trust me."

Eryn frowned and shook her head, but she helped with the sealing of the wood. She was skilled of hand, and in no time, the three sang the spell to cure the seal, creating a smooth glass-like surface on one side of the trunk.

"Don't like this," Eryn said as they moved the tree trunk into position with the heaviest and the widest part of the trunk hanging over the cliff. It was just long enough for three of them to stand comfortably.

"The cliff's too steep. Tree trunk not heavy enough. And we too light. We will pick up too much speed and we will crash."

"We won't. If we balance it right, we will be fine," Thranduil hoped as he strung his bow and jumped onto the front where the trunk was the widest and the heaviest. Eryn jumped on behind Thranduil. Elrond who held the tree trunk as they jumped on, let go and jumped up behind Eryn.

"Lean forward!" Thranduil said, but it was unnecessary. The trunk flew forward and sailed over the wet grass picking up blinding speed. Rocks blurred past them as Thranduil grabbed a handful of arrows to get the bow ready.

Suddenly a large boulder rose in front of them.

"Lean back! Lean back!" Thranduil shouted, turning around with a warning on his lips, hoping to slow the speed.

"Watch out!" Elrond's sharp command made Thranduil turn to eye the front when a boulder came at him. The tree trunk hit it. The force of the hit flip the tree trunk, throwing the trunk and the three of them into the air.

"Aaaaak!" Screams ripped through Thranduil's mind.

The trunk swung. Thranduil flipped once in the air, trying to right himself. But, there was nothing under his feet.

 _Roll!_ His mind shouted. But before he could, he was thrown violently onto the ground.

"Out of the way!" Someone screamed. Thranduil rolled over as the tree trunk rammed the space he had previously occupied, spreading dirt and debris. Thranduil lifted his head when a body flew onto him, smacking him back onto the ground.

Groaning, Thranduil turned to find Elrond on top of him. The Half-elven gritted his teeth as he rolled over onto the ground next to Thranduil.

"I am never listening to you, ever again," Elrond said with a glare as he sat up grunting.

"We got down here in one piece."

"Don't talk to me, you crazy Orc. Why do I keep listening to you? Why don't you ever listen?"

"You almost got us killed," Eryn said, picking off the tree branches off her hair. "If the tree didn't catch me, I would have broken something."

"I might have broken something," Thranduil said, wincing at the sharp pain in his left shoulder.

"Where?" Elrond grabbed Thranduil, dragging him up into a sitting position.

"Just my left arm. I don't know if something broke, or just the old pain." Thranduil massaged his upper arm which pulled painfully.

"The wolves!" Eryn took out her dagger. "They are here."

But it was the clanging of metal that reached them first. Thranduil sat up and reached for his bow, but there was no bow, no quiver, and no pack.

Cursing out loud, Thranduil grabbed his sword when a wolf flew at him, knocking him back on the ground with a thud. The sword flew off his hand.

The beast growled, baring its fangs. Snapping furiously, the wolf lunged for Thranduil's throat. The Sinda grabbed its mouth as its sharp fangs tore through his hand. Gritting his teeth, Thranduil yelled and wrapped his legs over the wolf's torso. They rolled over, Thranduil trying to reach the dropped sword, and the wolf pushing to tear out Thranduil's neck.

Thranduil smashed his head against the beast's head, surprising it when the wolf yelped as it loosened its brute strength against Thranduil's hands when an arrow struck its head. The beast screeched an ear-splitting yowl before it fell forward. Thranduil rolled, grabbing the wolf's head into his arms as another arrow landed, just barely missing his head.

Thranduil sat up, kicking away the wolf's carcass, and turned to the direction the arrow came. It was Eryn. She had climbed one of the taller boulders nearest them. With her bow in her hands, she was shooting arrow after arrow, half of them hitting, and the other half totally missing their mark.

* * *

 **Quenya** -language of the high Elves from Valinor. Both Noldor and Vanyar used it with slight variances. In the First Age, Noldor used it among themselves, but when Thingol forbid its use (upon learning the kinslaying by Feanorians), Noldor, who already learned Sindarin, adopted the language of the Sindar. By the Second Age, all Elves spoke Sindarin except for the Nandor (Green Elves and the Silvan Elves) who had their own language.

 **League** -distance equivalent to three miles.

 **Doriathrin accent** -According to Tolkien, the Sindarin used in the court of Doriath (thus at Menegroth) had a distinct accent that made it easy for others to distinguish it.

 **Glineth** -Nandorin Elf OC from Part 1 who is Thranduil's nurse (someone Thranduil considers like a second mother)


	8. Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a warrior?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: Bloody battle scene

**South of Forochel. March 30, SA 542**

**ELROND** didn’t think. He didn’t have time to think. He hacked and slashed, pivoting around to block, stab, and slash again. All he knew was that there were Orcs and wolves, not ordinary wolves but beasts willing to tear him apart.

Orcs were one thing; they were the creatures of the dark, but the wolves were not evil by nature and Elrond wanted to spare them if he could. But the beasts were not themselves. Their eyes burned red with dark flames and no matter the wounds he gave, they attacked relentlessly.

Elrond ducked as a hammer whizzed past his head. He stepped back from the whirling hammer of an Orc when something clamped onto his leg, making him swerve at the weight of it.

Elrond flipped his sword, sinking his steel in the wolf which bit into his greave when the Orc, stepping closer, swung his hammer once again. Elrond saw it coming, but he could not move out of its way with his foot caught in the wolf’s snarling jaw.

Gritting his teeth for an impact, Elrond held up his left arm to block the incoming hammer knowing how inadequate his vambrace was against the power of the weapon when a blur of red crashed onto the Orc, throwing it down and its hammer away.

Thranduil kicked away the hammer and moved to stab the Orc when a wolf jumped in front of it, snarling and growling.

Thranduil moved back to Elrond’s side.

“Hurt?” Thranduil asked, his eyes never leaving the wolf.

“No.” Elrond yanked his foot out of the maw of the dying wolf which had slackened its hold.

“Behind you!” Thranduil shouted before turning to meet another sword.

Elrond turned to block the incoming sword, taking a step to stab it, then stepped back, his back to Thranduil.

Elrond felt Thranduil move to his right. Keeping his back to Thranduil, Elrond followed Thranduil’s move, instinctively understanding the Sinda’s need to look around. He knew the feeling, the need to assess the battlefield, to see how others fared. Since they crashed into this glade, they did not have the time to assess the situation.

The wolves, four in number, along with the two Orcs they were fighting, circled the two of them. These Orcs were no mere foot soldiers.

Quickly, Elrond scanned the glade. Bodies of the wolves and the Orcs lay strewn around the two of them and on the forest floor. Several strides away from them, Orcs and several wolves surrounded the Elven soldiers in the King’s uniform, a hunter and two Elves dressed in a muddy white tunic. They were standing, but clearly on their last bit of strength.

Just then, a long howl came from a cluster of trees surrounding the glade.

Elrond felt his stomach knot into a lump of ice. Have they spent too much time? Were they now to face the Wargs? Elrond glanced at the others again. The faces of the Elves were grim, dark, and hopeless.

“Kekeke,” the Orc with a hammer cawed. “Give it up, scums. More will come.”

As if on cue, three Wargs with riders on them emerged. Large as a horse and black as tar, they sauntered into the clearing, raising the furs about their necks like thorns. Their riders were smaller Orcs, each carrying long spears. Their dark, greenish skin and clothing made them look like a gigantic wart on the back of the beasts.

One warg and its rider moved over to the cluster of soldiers. The remaining two Warg riders moved over to Elrond and Thranduil, lowering their spears to aim for the two Elves.

Hearing Thranduil mutter a curse, Elrond swallowed. Wargs alone he could handle, but the riders with the long spears were another matter. The enemy riders not only had the advantage of the height, but they also had a weapon capable of a long reach, a lethal combination. To kill them, he would have to get close, but the Wargs were like armored trolls, difficult to kill unless you hit certain weak spots which required precision.

“We need to deal with the riders first,” Thranduil whispered through his gritted teeth. “Or this is going to be a very short battle.”

Elrond wondered how many more are coming. They had seen at least a dozen Wargs.

“Lay down your weapons, Elf-scums,” the Orc with the hammer said.

“Or what?” growled Thranduil.

“We will feed the rest of your friends to our rides.”

“I like to see you try.”

Elrond leaned away when he heard something whizz past him. It hit one of the Wag-riders full on the face. The Orc rider screamed, dropping his spear. An arrow protruded from his sallow cheek.

“King’s soldiers! King’s soldiers are coming!” Somewhere Eryn shouted. At the same time, several more arrows cut through the air. And the ground trembled. Something was coming at a top speed.

The Orc with the hammer withdrew behind the Wargs.

“Elrond, spear!” Thranduil moved the same time he called out. Elrond knew exactly what Thranduil wanted.

Thranduil jumped on the Warg where the rider was still screaming. Elrond rolled, grabbing the dropped spear, he thrust it into the belly of the other Warg. The beast yelped, rearing and swiping at Elrond. The sudden motion threw off the rider. Ducking the snapping jaw, Elrond pounced on the rider, stabbing his sword into the Orc’s neck as he fell on the rider.

With a furious snarl, the Warg attacked, snapping its jaw with a savage growl. Then, instead of lunging at Elrond, it backed up, growling and snarling.

Elrond turned, sensing something coming at him. An enormous bear, greater than any he had seen, let out a roar. As it charged, it swung its enormous, clawed paw. Elrond held up his sword to block it, but instead, the bear clobbered the Warg in the front of Elrond, throwing it clear across the clearing.

Elrond did not waste the opportunity. He flew over to the Warg, splitting it in two. He turned to watch the Bear turned to an Orc near it, took a bite of its arm, ripping it free as the Orc screamed. It swiped away the wolves as if they were mere pests. It sent the wolves flying with its powerful paws. The wolves yelped as they hit the ground, but gathered around and circled the bear.

The bear snatched up the white tree trunk lying by its feet, but the oiled tree trunk slid in its paws as the bear tried to grab hold of it. The wolves, seeing the great beast unsteady, jumped one after another, each sinking its fangs into the furry flesh.

Elrond sprinted and Thranduil followed, their swords slashing at the wolves whose maws held onto the bear as the gigantic creature went down. The white tree trunk flew up as the bear flung its paws. One paw hit the tree. The tree trunk soared into the air, then landed smack on the great beast’s head as the bear hit the ground with a loud thud.

The wolf which had bit the back of the bear squealed loudly once before it fell silent.

Elrond ran to the bear, kicking away the dying wolves. The bear growled softly, its breath heavy and slow. Its eyes rolled upward.

“You killed it, Thranduil. It was trying to help us, and you killed it.”

Elrond looked about him. The remaining wolves had turned their tails and ran away. He could not see any Orcs in the glade.

“I didn’t do anything,” Thranduil leaned down for a look. “It was the tree trunk.”

“The tree trunk you brought down here.” Elrond felt the bear’s pulse. It beat strong and steady. “Thank the Valar, it’s not dead, just knocked down. Still, we could have used its help.”

“Where are the king’s soldiers?” Elrond looked up, then called out.

“Eryn? Mistress Eryn?” Elrond called when he didn’t see her anywhere. Elrond left the side of the great bear, trying to find a glimpse of the Elven woman.

“Here,” Eryn dropped down from the nearest tree.

Elrond quickly scanned her and sighed with relief when he saw that she was unhurt. Elrond turned when Thranduil who was looking around next to him moved away, sheathing his sword.

“The King’s soldiers?”

Eryn shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I thought you could use a break.”

“Aron!” Thranduil called out loud.

The Elven soldiers and the hunter were sitting on the ground as if their legs could not support them. Only one of them stood up, an elderly Elf who leaned heavily on his sword. He was bleeding on the side of his neck and one thigh.

“How’s your injury? Have you seen Commander Aron?” Thranduil asked.

The soldier looked up, his eyes grave. Elrond’s heart sank. The old soldier opened his mouth to speak when there was a sound from a tree just at the edge of the glade where the battle took place.

An Elf, dressed in the dirty white tunic embroidered with the two silver swans, walked out from behind a tree. He wore no armor, and his feet were bare. His face was bloody and swollen. He stumbled as if he could barely walk.

Thranduil ran to him. But before the Sinda could reach him, the Elf was yanked back.

Behind him stood the Orc who had swung the hammer at Elrond. The Sauron’s creature grabbed the Elf, his arm around the Elf’s throat, another hand holding a dagger under the Elf’s chin.

Thranduil lowered his sword and straightened. Elrond grabbed his sword.

“Let him go,” Thranduil growled.

“Lay down your weapons, or Turok kill this one.”

Thranduil took a step closer. “Your master would not want him harmed, Turok.”

“Kekeke,” The Orc laughed. “You don’t know Master. He don’t need him no more so if you not lay down your weapons, I kill this one and all of you.”

Just as Turok said so, the Orcs and the wolves returned to step next to the Orc. There were about ten of them.

“Thranduil.” Elrond moved in front of the soldiers, knowing they were in no condition to fight now.

Just then, another loud howl rang through the glade. Elrond glanced back at the Elves behind him. They tried to get up, but they were exhausted and most of them were injured. Eryn alone stood a few step behind him, near the two dead Wargs, her bow ready.

“Where’s your army? I don’t see them. Mine are almost here. Kekeke,” the Orc cawed. “More are coming. You have no choice. Drop your weapon.”

“You want us alive,” Thranduil frowned as he took another step closer.

“You and him,” the Orc gestured toward Elrond. “You two come with us and I will let this one and the others live. If not,” The Orc dew the Elf closer against him and pushed the dagger in, drawing blood. The captured Elf gritted his teeth, his face turning red with strain. 

“This one will be the first to go,” the Orc growled, its dark eyes flaming with hatred.

“Go on then.” Thranduil’s voice was ice cold. “Kill him. If you can.” Thranduil took another step, just a stride away from the Elf and the Orc.

“Thranduil,” Elrond warned as he raised his sword as the wolves and the Orcs drew closer.

“Eryn?” Elrond turned to Eryn behind him. He was asking if she could make the shot.

She didn’t say a word but drew her bow, but her eyes moved to Elrond. In her eyes, Elrond got his answer. Even if she could, it would have been almost impossible without hurting the Elf. The Orc was almost completely hidden behind his prisoner.

Just then arrows whistled through the trees. At the same time, Thranduil moved. There was a flash as Elrond blinked.

The Orc fell, a spear through his head while his hand, severed of its arm and still holding the dagger, flew up in the air. The Elf fell forward into Thranduil’s arm.

The Orcs and the wolves pounced, and Eryn’s arrows flew past Elrond as he raised his sword to meet the oncoming attack. But they didn’t come.

More arrows came flying out of the trees behind the Orcs, shooting down the wolves. And when the Orcs turned, two warriors stood there. Elrond’s heart sang when he recognized them.

“You know, your Warg riders should not have killed Thoron’s horse. Now, he is pissed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Baldor laid the great sword in his hand against his shoulder and stepped aside. Thoron stepped forward. In his hand, he held two long spears, the kind the Warg riders had. The Silmacil was a terrible sight to behold. He was covered in black blood, his armor torn and dented here and there. His face had a fresh gash on one cheek, and his eyes burned like the bonfires.

With a terrible battle cry, Thoron charged. He hurled one of the two spears, catching one of the five remaining Orcs in the neck. With the other, Thoron whirled it around his arms, then swept it across the feet of the three Orcs who stood close together. As soon as the Orcs hit the ground, they found Baldor’s great sword. The last remaining Orc turned, met Eryn’s arrow as well as Elrond’s blade that found the gap between the iron plates of its armor.

“There, there, Thoron. Feel better?” Baldor padded Thoron’s back which heaved like ocean waves.

Elrond ran to the two Silmacil. “It is so good to see you.”

Thoron turned, his eyes narrowed into slits.

Elrond felt sweat run down his back. “You…uh…want me to check that,” he pointed to the bloody gashes on Thoron’s cheek.”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. We’ve had our share of Warg slashes. This is nothing. You should have seen the…”

“We trusted you,” Thoron said, cutting off Baldor. “The king trusted you.”

Elrond felt himself shrink. He could not meet Thoron’s eyes.

“I’m sure Elrond feels bad. It happened already. Nothing that can be done now. We have to get ready for the Orc army. We have less than an hour, Thoron.”

“The Wargs,” Eryn said, stepping next to Elrond. “There were at least a dozen more Wargs on their way, and they should be here about now.”

“You need not worry about them, little mistress,” said Baldor. “We took care of them. Otherwise, we would have been here much earlier upon hearing the horn.” He turned to Elrond. “But, how did you get down here so fast? The Wargs took us longer than we expected, but I thought we would arrive here before you two got down here.”

“We did not know these many wolves would be joining the Orcs,” Thoron said looking around the glade. There were more than a dozen wolves on the ground. “Perhaps we should have come here straight.”

“We thought our soldiers would be enough to hold until we joined them before you two rascals come down that cliff.” Baldor shook his head.

“Elrond!” Thranduil called. Elrond ran to the Sinda, grateful to escape the presence of the two Silmacil.

“The bleeding, I can’t stop it.” Thranduil moved over as he held a torn tunic wrapped around the Elf’s neck. It was soaked in blood.

Elrond checked the Elf over and was relieved to find that the wound was not deep despite a lot of blood.

“Are you Gwinion?” Elrond asked. The young elf nodded, his face white.

“They took him. That warg and the rider took Commander Aron,” Gwinion said.

Elrond glanced at Thranduil whose face was devoid of emotion.

Eryn handed Elrond a bottle. “It will keep the wound sanitized.”

After washing the wound with what Eryn gave him, he let Eryn bind the wound. She seemed to know how to handle injuries.

Thoron and Thranduil gathered the Orc weapons as Elrond and Eryn examined the four soldiers and the hunter. None of them were mortally injured, but their wounds were bad enough that they needed time to heal. Baldor handed out food and drinks from his pouch.

The hunter, dragging his injured leg, went over to see to the bear.

“We don’t have much time to prepare,” Thoron said. “A company of Orcs are headed this way. They should arrive within an hour. We need to prepare our defense if we are to survive their onslaught.”

“I could still use a bow,” the elder soldier said. “And so do other three, except the youngest,” he pointed to a soldier whose arm was broken.

“There is a spot just in front of the cliff,” Eryn offered. “It is surrounded by boulders. We could use the rocks as a shield, keep the horde off for a little while.”

“And then what? What can we do once our arrows are spent? With just five, six,” Thranduil turned to Gwinion, “of us standing. Six of us against fifty, sixty Orcs?” 

“We sent my horse to go find the other soldiers who had taken the other trail,” Baldor said. “But, I am unsure how soon they can arrive.”

Someone spoke or growled. It was more of a mixture of a growl and a hiss than words.

“A village?” Thranduil said suddenly, then turned. They all turned. A man stood there. A very tall and bulky man with a thick curly head of hair and beard. The almost fur-like hair covered most of his chest. He was a tallest man Elrond had ever seen. He was perhaps even taller than Thranduil who was the tallest amongst them.

“Who are you and where did you come from?” Thranduil asked.

The hunter who stood behind pointed to the man. “It’s a bear. The bear turned into this man. He a Skin-changer. I heard about it from my fellow hunters. There is a whole village of people who can shift their body into the shape of a bear.”

The man stepped closer. He had no weapons in his hands but had a powerful presence. The corded muscles of his arms and legs were thick, almost twice that of Gwinion who was a lanky young lad.

The man’s voice was deep and growling. He spoke again, half a growl and half a hiss. Elrond knew all the languages that were known among the Elves, but he could not make anything out.

“Over those hills? Will they help us?” Thranduil asked as if he understood.

“You understood that?” Baldor raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t you?” Thranduil knitted his forehead. “It sounds like Sindarin to me although very hissy.”

“What part of it sounded Sindarin?” Elrond asked. “There is nothing intelligible in what he said and I think I studied most of the known languages in the Middle-earth.”

“What is he saying?” Thoron asked.

“His name is Bodvar, son of Bjorn. They have a village over the hill north of here, about four to five leagues.”

The man took a pendant in a leather string from his neck.

“He said to send someone to his village and show his father the pendant. His father is the chief there. They will send people to help him. He said he will fight with us.”

“That is great news, but north of here, that means someone has to go through the coming Orcs. But who will we send? It has to be someone fast and stealthy. Someone in top of his form.” Thoron looked about the four of them.

Elrond pulled at his braid. Besides Eryn, only the two Silmacils, Thranduil and himself were uninjured, but that would also leave one less warrior to face the oncoming Orcs. Four or five leagues meant four hours of travel if he was running.

“I’ll go,” Eryn said. “You will need every able-bodied warrior to survive. I am not a melee fighter, so will not be much help here. But I can run fast. Five leagues would be about four hours. I think I can do it in three if I push myself.”

“Four hours through rough terrain and uphill, Mistress Eryn. It is too dangerous.” Elrond shook his head. Running was not all that was involved.

“There are Orcs. You may outrun Orcs, but not their arrows.”

“I’ve done it before. This region is mountainous and there are trees to hide me. And, of course, I have my bow.”

“Mistress Eryn, you are not an archer. I think we both know you are not all that you represented yourself to be,” Thranduil said.

“I represent? What did I represent to you except what you assumed because of how I dressed and wore my hair? And why should you think my people are so different from Noldor and Sindar? Because we look different? But are we not Elves? Our women do not kill nor enjoy doing so, just as the women of Sindar and Noldor. Why would we be different? We wear armor and braid our hair because we do not live in walled cities nor do we have large armies as you do. If our location is known and we feel a threat, we must take our belongings and move to avoid conflict. And we train to learn how to use bows and knives. We live in smaller numbers so everyone has to contribute, whether it is defending our homes or gathering food. And yes, some of us are great archers and some do well with the daggers. But not all are. Our women prefer gardening, growing, and making bread over other chores as all yours do. If you assumed all of us wielded knives and shot bows because that is how we looked, that is the fault of yours, not mine.”

“Fine. I assumed wrong. But, that does not change the fact that you are not a warrior, and the way is dangerous.”

Eryn looked up, her chin raised, her eyes shining bright and defiant.

“What is a warrior to you, oh great prince? Must all warriors wear shining armors and wield bright swords? Must they stand in front of his vast army, brandishing weapons and strike down his enemies left and right? Do you think soldiers are only those who work with their hands? There are those of us who use our eyes and ears, and those who use our legs. Do you think an army consists only of those who wield weapons? How about those nameless people who forgo sleep and food to feed, clothe, and arm those soldiers? They are never acknowledged and never thanked, but are they not warriors? How about those mothers who stand as the last defense, who died protecting their children? Are they not warriors? I have served my people, I spied for my people with these eyes. I made thousands of arrows with these hands. I carried hundreds of baskets of arrows, food, medicines, and provisions for our warriors through the chaos of battlefields when the sky and the forest burned with the fires of the dragons; I ran through the throng of Orcs and wolves and wargs, carrying the messages to other villages, to other allies with these legs. Am I not a warrior because I don’t swing swords, shoot straight with my bow? I served my people, risked my life many times over. I believe I have earned the right to call myself a warrior.”

“Dear Valar, you are your people’s veritable Silmacil,” Baldor laughed.

“Silmacil? White Sword? What’s that?”

“The ones who work in the shadows as our eyes and ears, hands and feet in the most difficult assignments, the great hidden warriors who don’t get recognition or even thanks, but are our greatest warriors,” said Elrond, bending his head slightly toward Baldor and Thoron.

\------------

 **Skin-changer** —Beorn (one who can change into a bear) is the only Skin-changer known in the Third Age. But, Tolkien states that there used to be many more. It is believed that the inspiration for Beorn came from the Saga of Hrolf Kraki, a Norse saga about the King of Denmark. So, the names of the Skin-changer OCs for this story are drawn from this Norse saga.


	9. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon's plans

**Forochel. April 2, SA 543**

**MAIRON** watched with dismay as the second hunter screamed as he thrashed where he fell. His body convulsed once more as his eyes rolled backward. The Maia sighed. He had diluted the blood hoping the less potent drop would help. It did not.

He gestured to the nearest two Orc guards. Groveling, the two heavily armed Orcs approached the foot of the dais, glancing furtively at him, then each dragged away the now silent body of the two hunters.

Mairon stood up as enormous energy pulsed around him. The ice floor of the chamber shook. Several large icicles attached to the ceiling broke, bursting into many hundred shards. The other Orcs within the chamber skittered away.

Rotating his neck to release the tension there, Mairon sat back down on his throne. This was not the time to lose his temper. It wasn’t as if the result was unexpected. He had already lost one of the captured Silmacils. The moment Uluch’s blood was forced into him, the Noldorin warrior had convulsed, rolling back his eyes to reveal the whites of his eyes. He had fallen dead, his spirit leaving his body before Mairon could do anything.

Having had success with the first Silmacil captured three months ago, Mairon had been too confident. He understood now that not everyone was going to survive the poison in the blood which contained Melkor’s essence. One needed darkness to bind it and hold it inside.

It was so disappointing. He had wasted Uluch’s blood for nothing.

Mairon let out a sigh. At least, it proved that his theory had been right. His sorcery bound to the gold collar and enhanced by the dragon blood worked wonders on Men and the lesser Elves. But Mairon had seen the ones with great will overcoming its effects. Perhaps more of his own power had to be infused into the spell? If possible, that was something Mairon wanted to avoid. He had seen firsthand what expending too much of one’s power did. He had no intention of losing the ability to change his forms like his master and other Maiar did. He will need to experiment more, but he did not have Elves at his disposal to do so. And the Silmacils were too valuable to waste on experiments. At least, when it worked, the combination of his sorcery and the Uluch’s blood proved potent beyond his expectation.

It was one of the reasons Mairon wanted Thranduil. The Sinda already had Uluch’s blood in his system which meant Mairon did not need to waste the precious little amount of dragon blood he had left. The Sinda had been unresponsive to his calls through the link provided by the dragon blood. Then, unexpectedly, the Sinda had fallen onto his lap, at least, the means to get him here.

The Maia reached into the crows and his ice bats who were his eyes and ears.

The Warg was almost here. He could see the Warg rider carrying the unconscious, white-haired Elf in front of him. They were crossing the last of the tundra before it turned into the thickly snow-covered ground.

That white-haired Sinda had not been Mairon’s target. In fact, he had thought little of the two kidnapped soldiers. They were just a decoy for Gil-galad to focus his attention while Mairon had the two hunters abducted to aid his release. That Thranduil and Elrond would come after the two Sindarin soldiers, leaving their protected walls, Mairon had not foreseen.

The last defeat at the Dwarven ruins had been difficult to accept: to be undone by a mere Sinda. It was unacceptable. Elrond is the child of Luthien’s legacy, and Mairon had a special place carved out for the Noldo, but Thranduil, a child of a minor Sindarin princeling? Mairon ground his teeth.

He had not meant to focus on those two young Elves yet. Gilmagor had preached the art of war, and Mairon had been an ardent student. Both Melkor and the Noldorin commander had their own ideas of how to approach war, but they agreed on one fundamental concept, that all warfare was based on deception. Both had known the importance of information and timing. A successful battle was never fought only with the weapons of iron and steel. Such weapons had never been Mairon’s choice. He had Orcs for that.

But, if the objects of his desire fell on his lap while in pursuit of his plans, why would he reject them? Gilmagor had said, there was opportunity amid chaos. One had to keep an open mind to take advantage of the opportunities when they arise. Having Thranduil and Elrond in one place, out of the protection of Gil-galad into his arms, it was too good an opportunity to pass.

Mairon looked up. A cluster of gray cloud swooped down from a large shaft in the ceiling, its chirps and clicks swirling around Mairon.

“So, the Silmacils have started their move, have they? Spread wide and thin around the mountain? Gilmagor is not taking any chances, is he?” Mairon petted the ice bats.

That was to be expected from the old Elf. The Noldo wasn’t looking for a fight. He was looking for information. And information Mairon was ready to give.

Gathering information was important but giving out disinformation was sometimes even more effective. Nothing sowed discord and mistrust more than misinformation unwittingly shared by their own kin who did not know that the seeming truth was in fact a deliberate and manipulated information meant to deceive.

Mairon smiled as he turned to the Orc by the door. “Send him in.”

Even as the prisoner under the mountain, Mairon had felt the presence of one Silmacil or other skulking around the village of the Northmen near the mountain where he was imprisoned. He knew the Silmacils were looking for the whereabouts of Astalder. The Maia had been glad that he sealed the cave entrances as soon as he realized the amount of time it would take for Uluch’s body to decompose enough for him to open the door to the chamber. He didn’t want unwelcome guests when he was in no shape to entertain.

The Silmacils roamed Mairon’s mountain for a long while after Mairon was imprisoned, coming back every few decades. The one Mairon had captured was the first one to return to check the mountain after the Northmen were sent out to spread the news of the rumbling mountain when Mairon was ready to execute his plans.

Some of Mairon’s best Orc captains died capturing this Noldorin warrior. But, he had been worth the loss. The Silmacil, once fed and collared, obeyed, but he had not opened his mind fully to Mairon even now. It was annoying, but that was the problem with the creatures with their own minds. It was one thing to command them, but another to gain full control.

The Silmacil bowed low, his eyes to the ground by his feet.

“You know what you have to say and do?”

“Ye…s, Maaamaa…maa” the Silmacil stuttered as his body twitched.

Mairon frowned. The power of the blood was strong, and the gold collar around the Noldo’s neck glistened, and yet the Silmacil struggled. This one had a mind stronger than what Mairon had first given him credit. Rising up, Mairon picked up the Silmacil’s face and looked down into the Noldo’s face. The warrior’s gray eyes wavered, hatred and fear warring within them. But bound by both the sorcery and the dragon blood, the will of the Silmacil, on its last shaky legs, broke under Mairon’s fiery gaze.

“Yes, Master.”

Mairon smiled as he allowed his long slender finger to trace the pale face of the Silmacil as he watched the warrior’s gray eyes turn into winter sea, opening his mind wide for Mairon to see.

“Good. Very good. Now then, go get your brethren.”

Mairon watched the Silmacil leave, satisfied. With any of the devices, blood or the collar, it was easy to make them do things that didn’t clash with their beliefs, but when they are asked to do things that affected them emotionally, these Elves showed a surprising amount of willpower. Why that was, Mairon did not know. He would have to look into it if he were to perfect the subjugation. But, in order to experiment, he needed Elves to test on which he could not do without gathering attention. And he was not ready to attract more attention from Gil-galad. For now, he just wanted the Silmacils, the eyes and the ears of the Noldorin king.

Had he known that the will of the Elves can be broken by combining dragon blood and his sorcery, Mairon would have tried it when his master had thousands of Elven slaves at his disposal.

Neither his master nor he had thought of combining the potency of Melkor’s blood and that of his spells. Whenever they had tried to break the will of Eru’s children, they succeeded against Men, but they could not break the will of the Elves without killing them. Only a rare few with weaker minds were influenced, but even they never fully submitted to the will of Melkor.

Mairon should have paid more attention to _Glaurung_ when he placed Hurin’s children under his spell. Because the dragon’s effect on the Elves were not as drastic as it had been on the _Edain_ , Mairon had not thought to use it against the will of the Elves. It was not until he tasted Uluch’s blood and knew what she had intended for Thranduil that he understood the full impact of Uluch’s power, the legacy of Glaurung.

Her blood did not disappear or was digested like food. It was a shadow that hid within oneself and grew according to the drinker’s strength and his inner darkness. And just like Melkor’s gifts, it gave, but it also took, slowly but inevitably, breaking down the drinker’s defenses. And when it was combined with the spells like Mairon’s sorcery, the effect was absolute obedience.

The problem was the supply of blood. There were precious few drops of Uluch’s blood left. The ones with weaker minds required only the gold collar when the command did not require them to do anything against their own beliefs, but the stronger ones, like the Silmacil, needed to be fed a drop of blood for the effect to have a strong enough hold to keep them under the influence. But out of the four he had given blood, only one survived. Mairon was not sure if it was worth using what little was left of the dragon blood on them when their survival was uncertain.

Mairon got up from his throne and changed into an ice bat. He flew inside the chamber that had been his prison for four centuries. He had raised a round stage out of the wall that had separated the chamber from his forge. Onto this stage carved out of stone and ice, a stream of daylight poured down from the air shaft Mairon made in the ceiling. The Maia had learned not to seal any room where he entered.

The faint light from the ceiling shone on the two blades embedded into the floor of the stage. Even under the dim light, the twin blades glowed as if they were jewels under full sunlight. Mairon had created this stage for his two, very special guests he was expecting.

Mairon chirped loudly as he flew into the crack on the ground that formed when he first tested his power after being freed. The swords that had bound him had limited the use of his full power.

Beneath the ice floor was a wide tunnel. As it was under the Blue Mountains, several deep caverns existed under his small mountain in Forochel. Mairon had connected several of those subterranean chambers into an open tunnel to bring Uluch to Forochel.

What he had not known was that the underground cavity under Forochel stretched east toward the western end of the Misty Mountains, known as the Mountains of Angmar. For the past four decades, under the whisper of Mairon, the Orcs had been digging, enlarging the subterranean pathways. There were about 84 leagues between the western end of the Mountains of Angmar and Forochel where he was. A large population of Orcs lived at the Mountains of Angmar, spreading east among the roots of the Misty Mountains.

As Mairon flew among the Orcs working in the darkness of the tunnel only occasionally lit with torches, Mairon noted those chambers filled with magma and whispered instructions. There were several hundred Orcs, some digging and some widening narrow passages along the crags and the cliffside. The trick was to build the tunnels connecting them without disturbing the river of magma that ran alongside it. The fire and the heat did not bother Mairon, but the Orcs were mortal and feared them.

From the westernmost end of the Misty Mountains, a distance of 84 leagues separated the east from Forochel. Through the many caverns and winding paths, one could pass from the Misty Mountains to Forochel without alerting those who kept surveillance of the area. But the path was narrow and dangerous, limiting the number of soldiers that could be brought through it.

Already, several hundreds of Orcs had arrived in Forochel, avoiding detection. What had Gilmagor said? Disguise your plans. When able, you must seem unable. When near, make our enemy believe we are far away. Oh, he had been an excellent student. He was certain Gilmagor would approve.

Mairon landed on top of one of the craggy rock jutting near where a group of Orcs tried to widen a narrow path.

His original plan had been to subjugate the Silmacils and use them as his captains to lead the Orc army. Once they were under his control, he didn’t have the need for this underground path. But Mairon had learned not to rely on one plan. There were always many unforeseen things that happened to subvert his plans. Just as now. Once he took control of the Silmacils, he would have fed the false information to Gil-galad, divide his forces and defeat them one by one outside the cities before Gil-galad realized what was happening.

Mairon wanted to spare the cities if at all possible. The Elves were talented builders. Especially Noldor. They created things of great beauty in ways these lesser children could not. Some said the Dwarves are the talented builders, but in Mairon’s eyes, they lacked certain innovation and an eye for beauty that Noldor exemplified.

Even to this day, Mairon remembered the lofty white marble towers of _Gondolin_ and the immaculate streets lined with flowering trees. The white-stone paved city of Lindon was said to have been built in memory of Gondolin, but it was only a pale imitation of the brilliant marble towers and the grand courtyards he had seen at Gondolin.

While the dragons were busy burning alive its remaining citizens, Mairon had roamed the streets strewn with the dead Elves and the Orcs, admiring the work of the Noldor.

In the slender white buildings surrounded by silver fountains and decorated with bright gems, Mairon saw the reflection of his old master’s hand, and he regretted that such marvelous creations should burn. But he could not convince Melkor from burning down the entire city.

Once Noldor were on his side, he shall cover this world with beautiful buildings of great heights. He shall build the soaring towers, carve grand statues, and create gems of marvelous hues. The streets shall be paved with gold and silver, and no one shall go hungry or in want. Yavana herself shall weep at the beauty of the flowers and the trees that shall cover the cities. They shall love him then and call him Mairon again. He shall build this world to rival that of Valinor. He would accomplish what his master could not.

Feeling the swell of his breast, Mairon soared over a wide gorge that stood over a deep flow of magma which separated this part of the landmass from the one across it. This was the biggest problem area. The crag that jutted out from this side and the other side provided the narrowest area over the magma river. Still, it was a two-furlong wide gap.

Several Orc guards were overseeing a ropeway where several chains were wound around gigantic wheels pulled by Mountain-trolls. Two iron baskets attached to each end of the rope carried Orc soldiers across. What had been only one ropeway carrying two soldiers on a small wooden basket had grown to several ropeways, unloading fifty to sixty soldiers per day. 

Gilmagor would be expecting no more than two to three hundred Orcs at most in Forochel, but in reality, Mairon commanded thousands.

Mairon flew up again. All along the gorge, forges had been set up. Thousands of swords and armors were being made on each side of the gorge. On the other side, there were even more Orcs, waiting to cross the gorge.

Satisfied, Mairon flew back through the tunnels and the caverns, speeding through the throng of Orcs filling the large caverns. They were still far from his mountain. By the end of the month, all of the Orcs would have arrived at Forochel.

In the meantime, he had to gather the Silmacils and put them to sleep. Even when all his Orcs arrive, Mairon would not be able to implement his plan right away. But rush, he would not. He knew better now. There were not very many Silmacils left, but more importantly, there was not enough dragon blood left. He would have to do some more tests before risking both.

Mairon returned back to the room with the circular stage, and took his original form, landing near the swords. He shall travel east. Capture wood-elves to use for his experiments. He didn’t want to alarm Gil-galad by taking any more Elves from the Noldo’s land. But the wood-elves were not as well organized. Missing few Elves would not alarm them as much, and even if it did, they weren’t much of a threat.

One thing bothered him: the Sindar among the wood-elves. He had been kept a prisoner in the cave of Forochel, but for the past several decades, Mairon had kept informed through the eyes of the Orcs, Wolves and the Crows. He had seen the warriors of Gil-galad working with the warriors of Oropher in the east.

This, he would not allow. Nothing good came when the Elves worked together. And he knew a perfect way to bring division amongst them. Destroy the bridge on which they had built the trust and friendship between them: Thranduil and Elrond.

Thranduil already had Uluch’s blood within him. Mairon took out the golden collar he had made especially for the Sinda. He was certain the Sinda would come of his own accord. And with him, Elrond will follow. The trick was not how to make Thranduil come to him, but how to put the collar on him.

But once that was done, what fun it would be to see the two good friends at each other’s throat. Mairon did not care who killed whom as long as one ended up dead. Thranduil was far more useful to him alive, but Mairon had no fondness for the Sinda. And something told Mairon that Thranduil would be more of a hassle than he was worth. And nothing would satisfy him more than to see Elrond’s face crumble with grief and horror when his hands ran red with the blood of kin. That would torment the Half-breed more than anything Mairon could ever do to him. And, if neither killed each other? That would be fine, too. The aim was not to see them dead. It was to see the trust between them broken.

Mairon whistled a song he had learned at Lindon. The sixty Orcs he had sent had done the work they were sent to do. Thranduil and Elrond would be with the Skin-changers now, recovering their wounds. Few more days and he will get to harvest the seeds he had sown.

\-------

 **Glaurung** (Sindarin. _Gold worm_ )-Considered the first and the greatest of Morgoth’s dragons. He is also known as the Father of Dragons and Great Worm of Angband. He was wingless uruloke (meaning, a fire-breathing dragon). He fought in many battles and was instrumental in the destruction of Nargothrond. He plays the main villain in the story of Turin Turambar whose hand it perished.

 **Edain** (Sindarin. _Men_ , singular form is **adan** )

 **Mountains of Angmar** —the mountains located at the north-western end of the Misty Mountains. This is where the Witch King of Angmar(Sindarin, _Iron Home_ ) later builds his chief fortress, Carn Dum for the realm of Angmar. (I like to believe that the name of the mountains already existed and the realm took its name from it, but I could be wrong)

 **Gondolin** (Sindarin. _Hidden Rock_ )—Realm of Turgon (Fingon’s younger brother and Earendil’s grandfather, thus related to Elrond) built on the valley of tumladen within the Encircling Mountains. It was the last Elven kingdom of the First Age to fall in FA 510, four years after Maedhros attacked Doriath. The beauty of the city was said to even rival that of Tirion, the Noldorin city in Valinor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gilmagor's warfare strategy is based on Sun Tzu's Art of War.


	10. Friends or Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond doubts as fear enters his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Have a safe and happy holiday. Thank you so much for all of you who have shown interest in this story, especially all those who took the time to comment and leave me kudos. Thank you so much.

**Southern boundary of Forochel. April 2, SA 543**

**ELROND** squinted, trying to see through the fog. There was a chill in the air as if temperature plummeted. Everything around him was blanketed in a swirling mist, like tendrils of breath on a wintry day. Elrond shivered as the icy wind nipped at his exposed skin.

“Thranduil? Mistress Eryn?” Elrond turned a full circle where he stood, but all around him was the same gray nothingness.

In front of him, something twinkled like a star. Lured by the light, Elrond went closer and touched where a stray light bounced off into a silver rainbow. It was cold and hard. A slab of ice. A wall of ice stood before him.

As if his touch raised a wind, the fog withdrew. Elrond tensed. Something terrible was happening.

A steel song rang through the chamber, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on their ends. Elrond’s senses blared a warning. A deathly aura of blood thirst emanated from behind him. Someone was behind him, and that person wanted his blood. 

Holding his breath as his senses raw and alert, Elrond silently grabbed the hilt of his sword as he glanced at the ice wall which was clear as a mirror.

Behind him stood a shadow, a tall warrior with a naked blade in his hand. A column of light shone behind the warrior and his face was in the shadows. Elrond could not see the face, but a sudden dread seized him. The warrior picked up his sword leveling it in a ready position to strike. A wind stirred and splayed the warrior’s long hair.

It was pale crimson. 

Elrond turned around, his heart thundering in his breast.

“Thranduil?”

But there was no one there. His stomach churned as ice slithered down his back. Elrond turned back to the ice wall.

The wall was full of light, so bright, Elrond turned away when someone’s hand landed on Elrond’s shoulder. The touch was warm and familiar. The Half-elven relaxed as he turned back to the wall, squinting to see when he heard the Captain of the Silmacil’s lilting voice which rang like a clear echo in Elrond’s head: _See with your heart, Elrond. Trust your senses._

Feeling the warmth of Astalder’s hand, Elrond turned around, his throat tightening as his eyes misted. But the person who stood there was not Astalder.

A beam of light came from the above and fell behind the rose-colored hair, illuminating the light reddish tint. His face was in the shadows, but Elrond could not mistake him.

“Thranduil.” Elrond stepped forward when the Sinda raised his sword. He held a white sword that shone like a blade made of light.

Thranduil’s eyes were emotionless and cold. Elrond was reminded of the day they first met at the Grey Havens centuries ago. He stepped back but found himself standing at the edge of a stone island. It stood floating on a river of molten rocks.

“I will not fight you. We are brothers, you and I.” Elrond said and lowered a hand which he had not known held a sword identical to the one Thranduil held in his hand.

The Sinda leveled his sword, jumped forward, closing the distance between them. Seeing the attack coming, Elrond held up his sword for a block. Their swords clashed, but the clang barely registered before Thranduil’s sword slid across. Sidestepping, Thranduil lunged, his sword penetrating Elrond’s heart. The Half-elven gasped, eyes wide as pain shot through him.

Thranduil drove the sword further, shortening their distance. Elrond grabbed Thranduil’s neck as the Half-elven fell, a golden collar in his hand.

The Half-elven gasped at the pain that ripped through him. But what hurt was not the physical pain.

“Elrond?”

 _Why was this happening?_ He did not understand. Elrond looked up into the bright, blue-green eyes. He had never doubted, never thought Thranduil would hurt him.

“Why?” Elrond grabbed the front of Thranduil’s tunic and pulled him closer. He looked into the Sinda’s unusually colored eyes. But, in Thranduil’s bright eyes, there was no trace of the murderous aura Elrond had felt, no threat that had pierced his heart. Only concern came from the frowning face.

“Why what? Are you all right? What’s wrong? Is the pain too much?” Thranduil pulled away, then helped Elrond up into a sitting position.

Elrond swallowed. He looked about him. There was no ice and no fog.

Was it a dream? The Half-elven shivered remembering the feel of the cold steel penetrating him. It seemed so real. Was it a foresight? He could never tell which of his dreams foretold and which didn’t. And if it was, how could it be true? Why would Thranduil try to kill him?

The Half-elven looked beyond Thranduil’s shoulder where the rest of the Elven warriors, some still lying on the furs attended by Eryn and an old woman wearing a coat of wolf fur. The woman was wrinkled with wiry gray hair interspersed with animal bones. Elrond vaguely remembered Thranduil telling him that she was a healer to the Skin-changers.

Next to the old woman, Eryn was bent over Gwinion who had sustained severe cuts across his chest and abdomen. The lack of armor had cost him.

Elrond winced at the sharp pain in his chest. He grabbed where the pain slowly dulled into a throb.

“Does it still hurt?” Thranduil’s eyes were clouded. And Elrond could feel the worry in them. Elrond swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Thranduil, will you promise me something?”

When he had the Sinda’s attention, Elrond looked into Thranduil’s eyes. “Stay near me. Do not leave my side.”

If his dream was telling him something that is to come, perhaps it could be changed. Maglor had said futures were never certain. He used to comfort him with those words when Elrond woke up with dreams that were too real, the kind of dreams that tended to come true.

“You will be fine, Elrond. It was only the Orc poison that had you knocked out. Your body was not used to it. Thoron cleansed the wound fast enough that you should be your normal self by end of the day.”

“Please, Thranduil. Promise me. Do not go off on your own.”

Thranduil stepped back, frown deepened on his face when he turned and called out. “Thoron!” Then, he offered Elrond a wooden bowl. “Here, drink this.” Thranduil pressed a bowl into his lips. Elrond pushed it away and grabbed Thranduil’s arm.

“I am your friend, your brother. Your kin. We are a family. Will you remember that? No matter what happens?”

“What the hell is this about?” Thranduil stood up when Thoron and Baldor joined them. 

“How are you feeling, Elrond?” Thoron took the space Thranduil vacated. The Silmacil lifted the leaves bound around Elrond’s chest just below his armpit. 

“How did I come here?” Elrond remembered riding on the back of an enormous bear with Thranduil’s arms around him. He remembered the rocky canyon they passed and the torches that lit a wide cavern. “I remember that old woman next to Mistress Eryn, and you and Thranduil speaking to a big man, you giving me a drink, then nothing after that.”

“While we were talking to Bodvar’s father, you passed out. The arrow, the one that landed on the gap in your armor, was poisoned. Your body had a bit of a reaction. How is it that you weren’t wearing a ring mail under the plates?”

“The other two were in leather and I was in plate. We were running through the mountainside.”

“And you thought it was worth skipping the ring mail to keep yourself lighter.” Thoron’s gray eyes were stern.

“The king needs to make you a _mithril_ mail, my lad.” Baldor who had come over to look said. He turned to Thranduil who crouched on top of a rock near Elrond’s bedroll. “What did I tell you. It was a minor wound. No need there was to worry.” Baldor put his hand over Thranduil’s shoulder. “You frightened this Sinda to death when you passed out.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Thranduil said nonchalantly, shrugging off Baldor’s hand.

“Of course, and I am the Dark Lord,” Baldor laughed. The jovial Silmacil turned to Elrond. “He sat and watched you sleep for the past day and a half.”

“He didn’t just sleep. He also had a fever. I was just making sure.” Thranduil glowered at the Silmacil, but Baldor grinned wider.

“The Orc poison is terrible when you are not used to it.” Thoron took out a small bottle from his pocket and added a drop into the bowl of water Thranduil had given Elrond earlier. “Once your body gets used to it, it hinders with your recovery but is not life-threatening. Drink once more for good measure.”

“How is your leg?” Elrond asked, remembering the sword cut Thranduil received from one of the Orcs.

“Healing,” Thranduil said. “It wouldn’t stop me.”

“Unfortunately,” Thoron said beneath his breath, near Elrond’s ear.

“Well, we survived,” Elrond said, forcing a smile. There was a moment as the sun went down that Elrond thought they would all die there at the glade. But with the arrival of the bear warriors, the surviving Orcs had turned tail and dispersed into the twilight.

“Barely,” Thranduil scoffed.

“At least, all of us made it out alive. I feared we will lose some of us,” Thoron said, looking around the cave at the others.

Elrond glanced at Gwinion. After the battle, he had been barely alive.

“How is he doing?” Elrond nodded toward the young Sindarin soldier.

“Mistress Eryn stitched him up. Bless her steady hands.” Baldor nodded, more grave now. “We almost thought we will lose him, but he is tougher than he looked. Huit, that is that strange old woman next to Mistress Eryn,” Baldor lowered his voice as if he didn’t want to be heard. “She seems to know something about herbs and plants. But, I don’t think they know a lot about healing.”

“Baldor.” Thoron shook his head, pursing his lips.

“He is still not awake?”

“Huit gave him something.” Thoron pointed to Thranduil. “He said it was something to keep the young lad asleep. It is better that way. The cuts he sustained were deep. The mending spells are painful for such wounds.”

Elrond knew about the mending spells. And knew how even after Gwinion recovers, the scars will remain for several months before they fully disappear.

“We must thank the little mistress for her speediness. I thought help would not arrive until the dawn when all of us are dead or too wearied to fight.” Baldor said.

Thranduil got up from where he crouched, drawing Elrond’s attention. The Sinda was looking elsewhere. It was Bodvar, his one arm in a sling. Unlike the Elven warriors who were already mending, the sword scar on Bodvar’s face looked raw and swollen although it was sewn up with expert hands.

“Little mistress sewed him up nicely, I would say.” Baldor pounded Thoron’s back. “Your mending spells have done wonders. I didn’t know it would work on the bears.” Baldor raised his hand in greeting, and Bodvar, grinning wide returned it with his unbound hand. Then he began to gesture, talking in his unfamiliar tongue.

“His father invites all of us to sit with him at tonight’s feast,” Thranduil said.

“We will be honored to sit with him,” Thoron said, glancing at Baldor and Elrond who nodded back. Except for Gwinion, most of the soldiers were well enough to sit up although some wouldn’t be able to walk far.

“He wants to show me something. I’ll be back.” With that Thranduil limped after Bodvar.

“What do you think they are talking about,” Baldor said thumbing toward Thranduil as the Sinda left the cave.

“I can’t make out anything they say.” Thoron shook his head. “Can you?”

Elrond tilted his head. “I will have to listen to them talk some more. Perhaps there are some discernible patterns.” Elrond glanced at the Green Elf several strides away from them. “Mistress Eryn seems to work well with Huit.”

“I don’t know how she communicates with the bear-woman. These people have very limited knowledge of healing. How do you explain to them that it is not the song itself that is doing the mending? They don’t seem to realize it is not the words that we sing, but the inner light that we channel with it that gives the power to heal.”

“That is a difficult concept for others who don’t know us, Thoron. And, I dare say some things don’t require much talk, isn’t that so, Elrond?” Baldor grinned.

“And that bear-woman looks at me with suspicion.”

“If she is, it’s because you look at her and her people with judgment,” Eryn came over to them and checked Elrond’s binding. “They primitive, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean they cannot feel.”

Elrond had a distinct impression she wasn’t just talking about the Skin-changers.

“They helped us when they didn’t have to.” Eryn said.

“Perhaps. It seems so, but I find myself question why they sent only eight of their Men when you must have told them how many Orcs there were.”

Eryn’s face darkened. “Maybe they not understand me. At least, they were ready, and we were able to come quickly.”

“That part is even harder to understand for me. You said the warriors were ready. How did they know? And why the Orcs suddenly left upon your arrival?” Thoron crossed his arms in front of him. “They clearly outnumbered us, yet the moment they heard the bears coming, they ran away. I found that rather too convenient. Orcs see well in the dark, and it was twilight. They would have known the number of bears coming towards them. And I still wonder why Bodvar came to help you.”

“Their attention was focused on us. Perhaps they didn’t have the chance to see clearly, only heard them coming. Mistress Eryn scared away other Orcs for a time by pretending reinforcements had arrived to help us.” Elrond threw off the bedroll by his feet.

He felt a need to get out of the cave and into the open air. The dark dream came back and made his stomach turn. Were these Skin-changers friends or enemies? Elrond hated the nagging suspicion brimming in his mind. Did these people, who seemed like saviors, had ulterior motives? Elrond did not want to believe that. Somehow believing that meant that the dream will come true, that Thranduil could attack him. With deadly intent. But that can’t be true. He won’t believe it.

“Ai, come, Thoron. They sent eight powerful warriors. I am sure Orcs knew not to attack them needlessly. They had to keep some back to protect their village. I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Baldor helped Elrond stand.

The cave was bright from the sunlight falling through a jagged opening high above the ceiling in the center of the cave. But Elrond needed to breath outside air.

“How about that dissension among their men?” Thoron seemed unwilling to let it go as Elrond moved toward the entrance of the cave.

Baldor and Thoron followed Elrond as Eryn held up Elrond’s elbow as if to render some strength when he stopped walking. Elrond felt light-headed.

“Slow steps,” Eryn said. “The poison is out, but you still mending.”

As Elrond moved closer to the entrance, he heard a sound of water gurgling mingled with laughter. Outside, the late morning sunlight threw golden ripples on a wide and shallow river that ran just outside the cave.

There were children, wearing wolf fur coats and barefooted, laughing and playing beside the river. Across the river, in a wide clearing, several mounds clustered together in clumps. Grasses grew over the mounds and despite it being the start of the spring, they were still brown. In between the mounds, there were people chopping woods, some hanging wet clothes on a rope tied to a tree, some feeding the animals kept in an area closed off with wooden fences. Beyond the mounds, a cluster of spruces stood like a wall on a rough, barren terrain covered in snow.

“What are those mounds?” Elrond asked, feeling the eyes of the children and adults alike who stopped from their activities to stare at them.

“That’s their homes.” Eryn grimaced. “They dug a pit and covered it with branches and mud. They use the cave as their stronghold.”

Just then two black birds dark as shadow croaked. On one of the pines, they sat.

Baldor’s hand reached over to his bow, but Thoron stopped him.

“Remember, they don’t want us shooting the crows. Thranduil said these people think they are messengers of gods. That is another reason I don’t trust them.”

“They not crows,” Eryn said. “They ravens. My people sometimes use them as messenger birds. They very intelligent. You can even teach them to talk.”

“How can you tell the difference?” Elrond squinted up at the tree.

“Ravens are larger, glossier, and have a wedge-shaped tail. And they not easily influenced by the call of the shadows.”

Just then Huit came over and gestured toward Eryn. The Green Elf left with the woman.

“I still don’t like them,” Thoron said, his eyes wary as he watched the ravens take flight. They soared high above, circling the village.

“We shouldn’t be too hasty,” Elrond said. “We must remember that Bodvar came to help us. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know if four of us could have managed.”

Back at the glade, with most of the soldiers wounded and exhausted, it had left only the five of them, the two Silmacils, Elrond and Thranduil and Bodvar, to fight against the coming horde.

“Bodvar is a fierce fighter in his bear form, but I must admit, if you and Thranduil did not come up with using that tree trunk, we might not have lasted that long,” Baldor said.

In the beginning, the five of them had managed while the wounded soldiers controlled the crowd with their arrows, preventing the Orcs from swarming them. But once the arrows were gone, the horde that had kept distance rushed them. Thranduil had picked up the white tree trunk by their feet and used it as a shield and as a weight to ram down the rows of Orcs. Then Bodvar swiped the trunk with his powerful paw to the other side for Thoron and Baldor who would ram down the Orcs on their side while Elrond and Thranduil cut down the fallen Orcs.

“I say, we were quite a team, two of you and two of us,” Baldor said as he padded Elrond’s back playfully. “I knew you two trained together, but that bear, I didn’t think he would fall into our rhythm so readily. Quite a formidable warrior, that bear. And, you and Thranduil. I saw that move of yours at the glade, the way you cut between those iron plates.”

“That was only an Orc armor. Theirs have many gaps between the iron plates. You haven’t seen Belegor and Thranduil cut through ours. I can’t do that.”

Unlike Orc armors, Elven armors didn’t have noticeable gaps except those temporary ones that occur with certain movements of the body.

“It’s difficult, even with the arrows although one got me. But with swords, you need speed and precision to cut between our armor plates, but those two could.”

“Ah, yes. I have seen those two at practice. I would have been impressed if the move had not been so risky and reckless. One wrong move and they could have killed their opponents instead of just giving them a scare. It is not that you are not capable, Elrond, just that your mind is averse to taking such unnecessary risks. You are undoubtedly skilled with your blade. I wouldn’t have minded having both of you join our brotherhood.” Baldor said.

“We wanted to.” Elrond smiled remembering the argument he had with Gil-galad. “But we were not allowed.”

“That is understandable,” Thoron said. “We don’t accept royalty or the firstborns who may need to have an heir. It isn’t only about skill. The Brotherhood of the White Sword is open only to those who have no obligations to family or kin. We cannot afford attachments.”

“Elrond, I understand,” said Baldor. “He is next in line after Lord Celebrimbor, but we could have accepted Thranduil. That lad is a handful, I’ll admit. But we could have used someone like him. The way his head turns at a time of urgency, he would have fit well with us.”

“Perhaps. We are, indeed, spread thin and no longer can afford to work in pairs except in rare instances, but this life is fraught with fire and blood. I would not recommend it to any young warrior in good conscience. Not when they could have a life in peace.” Thoron looked away at the sky.

Elrond felt the sorrow about the Silmacil, silent ripples of grief that lapped at his skin. The Half-elven felt his throat tighten.

“Thranduil was not within the king’s authority to allow him to join. He is Lord Oropher’s only son, the only child remaining to the Sindarin lord.” _And the one on whom the king placed all his hopes for friendship and unity with Oropher and the rest of the Elves in the east_ , but Elrond did not say that out loud.

But with that thought, the dread he felt at awakening seized him. What he saw, if that happened, it wasn’t just his life that was at stake. What happens between them could have a ripple effect on the relationship between the Noldor and the Sindar.

“What’s wrong?” Thoron who turned to look at Elrond drew his brows together. “You look pale.”

“It’s nothing.” Elrond looked around the mounds and the people. “Where does Thranduil keep his weapons and the armor?”

“You think he will try to leave on his own?” Thoron narrowed his eyes.

“Commander Aron is still out there.”

Thoron turned to Baldor.

“The lad is limping. The wound in his leg is still mending. Come, now, Thoron. You said it would take at least another day for it to finish healing. Besides, how will he get to the glade to pick up the trail? He wouldn’t try anything until he is better enough, would he?” Baldor met Elrond’s eyes, then Thoron’s. He threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Fine. I tell you, he is a handful, that one.”

“He should be easy to find, with that strange color to his hair,” Thoron called after Baldor as the Silmacil crossed the river.

“What happened to his hair? It wasn’t like that before he left the fort.”

Elrond shrugged, pulling at his front braid. “Ah, a disguise that went wrong?”

“And about that. You not only helped him but accompanied him. Why? Did you not think there was a reason the king and Lord Gilmagor wanted to take him to the Grey Havens?”

“I know Thranduil. He would have found a way to escape even without the help. If we block all roads and leave him only the steep and dangerous cliffs, he would have climbed down that precipice with bare hands rather than turn around.”

“We had planned for it. Lord Gilmagor had soldiers watching the river. He thought the lad would be crazy enough to jump from the tower and failing that he may cast himself from the ship the moment the spell on the sail is cast. I doubted the lad had a death wish. I thought the Lord Commander was being overly cautious.”

“He was not.”

“More the reason you should have kept Thranduil with the king. Neither Lord Gilmagor nor I thought you would choose to help Thranduil over the king’s command. We never doubted your loyalty to the king. At the least, we thought you would be wiser.”

Elrond dropped his head, sorely chastened.

“There will be consequences, Elrond.”

Elrond knew that already. Still, Thoron’s words clove at him. They stood in silence for a while.

“There is something you need to know.” Thoron leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You and Thranduil were being watched.”

“What? By whom?”

“You were there, were you not? That foggy morning?”

Elrond could not meet Thoron’s eyes.

“The crows, they are the eyes and the ears of Sauron. It is one of the reasons why we do not allow them in our cities.”

“But why would he watch us?”

“I do not know. But whatever it is, it wouldn’t be anything good.”

“Now that you mention it, that Orc, he wanted to take Thranduil and me. He tried to bargain other’s life for our capture.”

Thoron’s face darkened.

“We need to get you and Thranduil out of here. If not for your sakes, then for these people. If they are our friends, they will be in danger. If they are our foes, we are in danger.”

\----

 **Mithril** (Sindarin. _Gray glitter)—_ a soft and malleable silver metal which can be used in different alloys to make many different things, including armor that is extremely light and durable. Frodo wore a chain mail shirt made of mithril which even the force of troll’s weapon could not pierce. It is also called “true silver” by men and Moria silver by Dwarves as Moria was the only known source of mithril in the Third Age. There are some speculations (not mentioned by Tolkien) that some of the famed Elven weapons were made of mithril, such as Gil-galad’s spear, Aeglos, and Turgon’s Glamdring, a sword Gandalf carried during the time of the War of the Rings in the Third Age.


	11. Life for Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil follows Bodvar and is faced with something unexpected.

**South of Forochel, April 2, SA 543**

**THRANDUIL** followed Bodvar who led him past the mounds in the village to a small hill. It was away from the longhouse in the center of the village used as a gathering place and as the residence for Bodvar's father, Bjorn.

While Bodvar led him further away from the village and the bustle of the people, Thranduil discretely picked up a long stick. It wouldn't replace his sword, but he didn't have any weapons and knew how strong Bodvar can be, especially in his bear form. Perhaps they shouldn't have agreed to surrender their weapons at the longhouse. But Bodvar's people had required it before his injured group could be given a place to rest and heal.

Both Baldor and Eryn gave up their weapons willingly. Thranduil was certain if Elrond was in a condition to do so, he would have agreed with those two. Thranduil, however, had not been willing, and Thoron seemed to agree with him. But in the end, they did not have a justifiable reason to oppose Bjorn's request when they were in a position of asking.

Thranduil weighed the stick in his hand as he glanced around the remote area away from the heart of the village. The moss-covered roof was already green with early spring growth. Unlike the other mounds in the village, this one was built with rocks for the walls. It stood at the very top of a small hill which looked down at the village and the river. A small stream wound around the back of the house and flowed down the hill to join the river. Behind the house, you could see the snow-covered mountains in the distance.

Elrond would reprimand him for being overly cautious and for not trusting. Bodvar and his people helped them. While true, Thranduil did not know these people. Worse, these people were Men. Thranduil had seen, firsthand, how faithless Men can be if offered enough gold. Thranduil never liked Men, especially after his unpleasant experience. That dislike grew when he learned about the betrayal of _Ulfang_ and his sons at the _Battle of Unnumbered Tears_ from _Pengolodh._ It was clear Men could not be trusted.

 _Not all of them_ , Thranduil reminded himself, remembering the two siblings who had stood against the entire village of ungrateful people and their lust for gold. There were always exceptions. Buri the Dwarf was one and so was that Captain of the Silmacil. And Lord Onar. That stubborn Dwarf. And even among Men. But, that incident with those villagers had hurt him, more because he had almost died fighting to protect them from the slave traders from the east. The villagers had been grateful for their freedom, but not so grateful when those same slave traders offered them a chest full of gold for him who had been too injured to resist them. He had learned a hard way why his father avoided villages of Men during their travels. That had been over five centuries ago now, but it was a lesson he never forgot.

"My home. Build with these hands," Bodvar said with a wide grin.

"It's… different. I thought you have something important to say to me." Thranduil looked about, noting the group of boulders and the rows of tall pines in case he needed to take cover.

"Hroar! Yrsa!" Bodvar called once he arrived at the front yard which had a long table laden with food.

The door sprang open and a young boy ran out, his dark brown eyes wide open and excited. He flashed a toothless grin before Bodvar swept him up.

He squealed as the great bear of the man laughed out loud, rubbing his bearded face onto the boy.

"This my boy, Hroar, you rescued, ya?"

Thranduil raised his brows. "What do you mean? I rescued no one."

"Hroar said you did, ya, boy?"

The child nodded, pointed to Thranduil, "Pinks. Pink hair."

"Pinks?" Thranduil frowned down at the boy. He didn't appreciate the boy bringing attention to his hair which he didn't want to think about.

Bodvar pointed to Thranduil's head. "Color like pinks. Flower, tiny, sawtooth? My Yrsa's favorite, ya?"

The door opened, and a woman and a child came out. Both females were surprisingly fair with hair the color of dry grasses under summer sunlight.

All the people in the village Thranduil saw were dark-haired so their light hair surprised Thranduil. By how they looked very much like each other, Thranduil guessed their relationship.

"This lovely thing, my ooif Sif," Bodvar said as he grabbed the woman to rub his hairy face on the woman who laughed. And the younger, he padded the child's cheek, "My daughter, Yrsa. So what think you?" Bodvar asked as if he expected an answer. "She beauty, ya? My oomen most beautiful in all the mountains."

Thranduil wasn't used to having people declare the beauty of their wife and children to strangers, but he admired the man's undoubted pride and joy in his family. He placed his hand over his heart in greetings. "Please to have met your acquaintance, Mistress Sif. Miss Yrsa."

The woman giggled and hugged the girl.

"He handsome. What think you?" she said to her daughter.

The girl blushed, but squared her shoulders, then held up her head. "That is just one condition."

"Come, come," Bodvar pulled Thranduil down onto a chair, the sudden motion making him drop the stick in his hand.

"Sit. Sit," Bodvar insisted as he took a seat at the head of the table. Sif pushed a jug onto Yrsa's hands who poured mead into Thranduil's cup. The heavy honey scent of the mead mingled with the aroma of freshly grilled fish and the sour scent of the pickled vegetables making Thranduil's mouth water.

"I hope you like fish. Ee don't eat meat although Sif is from the ice bay and used to eat seals.

"Mistress Sif is from a different village?"

"She White Bear, ya?" Bodvar pointed to Sif's pale hair. Then pointing to his dark hair, he said, "We Black Bear."

"You Pink Bear?" Hroar asked, his wide eyes on Thranduil's hair.

Bodvar laughed, then mussed the boy's dark brown hair with his great hand.

"He no bear. He don't change. Ya?" Bodvar turned to him as if to ask.

"No, I don't change." _Neither am I a man_ , Thranduil almost said out loud, but bit his tongue.

Sif took a sizeable chunk of grilled fish and loaded Thranduil's plate with it along with a heaping spoonful of pickled vegetables.

"Is he a good ahrrior?" Yrsa who had been silent spoke up, glancing at Thranduil from under her lashes.

"Ya! I fought with him against the Green-skins. Very fast. Very strong. Good ahrrior. Don't let his girlish look fool you."

 _Girlish?_ Thranduil glanced at Bodvar then at the girl. Somehow it sounded as if Bodvar was trying to convince his daughter. Still, Girlish? There was nothing girlish about him.

"He no beard and no hair on chest," Yrsa said.

 _Praise Valar!_ Thranduil bit into the fish and the vegetables, ignoring the girl looking him over. For a child, she had a peculiar taste. Perhaps he should offer her Elrond. The Half-elven had plenty of hair.

"He's young." Bodvar turned to him. "How many summers have you seen? Twenty? Twenty-two?"

Thranduil blinked. Twenty? Were these people real? He turned to the girl. "How old are you?"

The child turned her chin up again. "I turn nineteen this summer."

"She little older, ya?" Bodvar nodded gravely as if he was admitting something terrible.

"But, I am the prettiest in the town," Yrsa said. "Everyone wants my hand."

"Well, good for you." Thranduil took another bite of the fish.

"Nobody ahnts to hear about you, Yrsa. Tell us about the battle, fa," Hroar pounded on the table. Yrsa glared at the boy, but Bodvar laughed out loud.

The early afternoon sun shone down on them as Bodvar related to his family the events of the battle two nights ago. His family listened to Bodvar's slightly exaggerated tale with apt attention.

"And I swiped to the other side and the other two flew over and kicked it straight down at the horde, ya? And Thrandu over here yells at me, 'Swipe it over here, Bodvar!' And I sent it back to them, he shouts at me 'Send it back!' So whack! Whack!" Bodvar punched the air with his left then right hand. "Just like that between the five of us, ran over half of what left of Green-skins."

"But, the tree, fa, your paws not shred it?" Hroar asked wide-eyed. Bodvar's paw-like hand swiped the boy's head affectionately.

Bodvar shook his head. "This tree trunk magic, ya? My claws left no mark."

Hroar sat up, his eyes shining. Even Yrsa who listened quietly looked up with a flushed face.

"Goddess protect you, Bodvar," Sif said.

Thranduil was tempted to tell them that they had enchanted the tree trunk with a varnish spell to give it almost a steel-like coating. It had nothing to do with this 'goddess' Sif mentioned. But, Thranduil did not. There was something about them that drew his attention.

The sunlight added a gold tint, their laughter, the way Bodvar's hands grazed over his son's head, then onto his daughter's face. Something Thranduil had forgotten for a long while. Home. Family. Things he had pushed far into the shadows of his heart, a door to which he had nailed shut, burst forth and carved a painful path in Thranduil's chest.

There was a time when his own father laughed like Bodvar with his mother on his lap, a time when Thranarin joined them for dinner and the four of them laughed together under bright sunlight. It seemed so long ago now, the light bright gold, the table laden with ripe fruits of many colors. The very air had been vibrant and alive then. Thranduil held his breath, afraid the scene he was seeing in his mind would disappear.

But it was also a reminder of the family and home he no longer had. And his heart ached for his father, the only one who remained to him. His hand sought the leather-covered gems around his neck. His heart filled with a yearning for his father and the warmth of the years gone by. What would it feel to have a home again, a place to go to after a long day to be with those who he loved and who loved him?

_Father, do you miss me as I miss you? Have you found peace?_

Thranduil dropped his hands onto his lap and steeled his heart. What good was it to reminisce? There was a more pressing matter. Aron was still out there.

"I am grateful for the bountiful meal you have prepared to share with me, but my friends would be looking for me." Thranduil wondered why they had singled him out for this meal. He wished he didn't suspect them of anything, but he could not help the feeling that they wanted something from him, something they did not seek from other Elven soldiers.

"Ah, your friends. I not ask them here because this is for you to meet Yrsa."

"I don't understand."

"I know what my father promised. But, my children are my treasures. I wanted to be sure my Yrsa liked you."

Thranduil frowned. "Your father promised me something?" He did not remember if Bjorn had. He was talking when Elrond fell forward. Thranduil had caught the Half-elven and had stopped listening.

"Yrsa?" Bodvar turned to his daughter. The girl bit her lip, her face flushed red. She nodded.

"Ahahaha!" Bodvar laughed aloud, his joyful laughter ringing in the air. "I knew it. Good. Good." The man laughed again. Then, he surprised Thranduil by getting up suddenly, grabbing him up and pulling him into a bearish hug. "You family now."

Thranduil pulled back. "I still do not understand."

Bodvar kissed his daughter, then taking her hand, he surprised Thranduil further by taking his hand and linking it with his daughter's.

"Yrsa yours now. Be good to her, ya?

Their customs were foreign to Thranduil, but he could not mistake the intent. Thranduil blinked rapidly, taking his hand away.

"I…uh…" Thranduil had never been at a loss for words, but his mind was a vast empty space. "I ...uh ... really do not understand."

"You save Hroar, ya? It is our practice to offer life for life. That is how I won Sif. I saved her brother, and her father gave me her. You saved my son; I give you my daughter."

"But, I didn't save your son."

"You did, you did," Hroar said. "Very foggy morning I fell and I thought I died, but you came down and saved me."

Then the fog cleared. Thranduil remembered leaving Eryn and Elrond on that foggy morning. He had heard a strange mix of sounds, half beast and half human. The receding fog had transported the forest into a different world. When he followed the low keening, he came upon a strange scene of a white bear in rage and two large moose fighting a group of wolves.

When Thranduil shot down one of the wolves, the beasts turned tail, and the white bear and the moose followed after them.

He had stood and watched the bear and the moose disappear into the misty forest when he heard a noise from underneath him. The fog was lifting, but a thick carpet of fog had remained deep enough to reach his ankles. It was only his instincts that had kept him from falling off the cliff beneath him. A young moose calf wailed, and next to it was a baby black bear knocked unconscious.

"That baby bear was you?"

The boy smiled widely, nodding enthusiastically.

"And that white bear was your wife?" Thranduil glanced at Sif who smiled back. "I see now. But you had not known that there was a ledge there. And I wouldn't have known it if that calf did not wail." He had climbed down and carried the bear and the calf back up. While he was caring for the calf, the baby bear had woken up. Thranduil had checked it for any injury and when he was satisfied and let it go, the baby bear had ran away. He had not thought much about it until the two moose returned.

"I thought I had lost him," Sif said as she pulled Hroar into her arms.

"Well, as much as I would like to take the credit, I did nothing except to carry the bear and the calf up from the ledge. You and the moose were the ones who fought off the wolves."

"If left alone, he would have died. You saved Hroar. Sif thought him dead," Bodvar pulled both his wife and son into his arms. The pain in his voice stirred Thranduil and reminded him of his father's unfathomable eyes the last time Thranduil saw him in that swan ship.

"Whatever you think you owe me, you have returned it by coming to our aid at that glade. And your people have opened your home to care for our wounded. It is we who owe you thanks." With his hand on his heart, Thranduil inclined his head.

Bodvar shook his head. "I supposed to be there and help Hroar in his first changing, but the waterfall so loud, and I busy with preparation, I not hear Sif calling, ya." The man's eyes filled with tears. "I almost lost Hroar because of that. Sif and Hroar came back to the camp, I so angry, ya? I ran after the group of the oolves. I after them to loose my anger on them, not to help you. Didn't know you there until after oolves gone and I saw your hair. And I knew you the one Hroar said."

"I not believe him," Sif laid her hand on Hroar's shoulder. "Hroar said hair like the pinks and I told him there no such thing."

"But I can't marry your daughter."

The smile disappeared from Bodvar's face and on his wife and daughter.

"You don't like Yrsa? She not lovely?"

"She is lovely, but I can't take her. We don't…we don't take children from other people, certainly not to marry."

"She not child. She ooman. This year, her nineteenth summer. Full grown now, ya? Most ooman marry at fifteen."

Thranduil shook his head. A girl who had not even seen her nineteenth summer? She was a babe even if he were to entertain the idea, which he didn't.

"Where I come from, we do not marry strangers. We believe marriage is a sacred meeting of two hearts that beat as one. That does not happen overnight and definitely not among two strangers." According to Thranarin, his mother had his father wait for a century before accepting his proposal of marriage. And that wasn't considered very long of a wait among his people.

"Yrsa no stranger. You met her and she met you, ya?

"Out of the question. It is not done where I come from."

Bodvar's face hardened, all laughter gone now.

"Among my people, it is an insult to turn down gift given with honor. Yrsa not beggar. Her dowry bigger than any other ooman in the village. I give her many goats, sacks of grain, and jars full of sweetest mead. If you no home, I give you land here."

"It is nothing to do with what you can give me." Thranduil glanced at Yrsa whose face turned red, but not with embarrassment.

"I not marry a man who not want me," Yrsa said, her fists clenched. With her head held high, she entered the house, banging the door loudly.

"I didn't mean to be disrespectful," Thranduil said, wanting to kick at something. He wished Elrond was here. The Half-elven would be better at explaining things like this than he was.

Bodvar picked up his palm, a clear sign, telling him to stop. The man glanced at his wife who took Hroar and went inside the house after Yrsa.

"You think my Yrsa not good enough?"

"Please, I do not mean that. I just cannot marry."

"Cannot? You married?"

"No. Right now, I am chasing after the Orcs because my brother is taken. I don't have time to think about things like this."

Thranduil stared down Bodvar whose dark brown eyes probed.

"Green-skins took your brother?"

"Yes. That is why soldiers from my people were out there, looking for him. I cannot stay here or talk about marriage and wife. My brother's life is at stake. If you are grateful, help me find him. Please."

Bodvar sat back down onto his chair. Thranduil did not know what Bodvar could do for him. Perhaps the man can give him a ride or help him find Aron's trail again. But, he could not stay, not when both Silmacils he wanted to avoid were here. Thranduil did not know what the Silmacils could do now, with the soldiers injured, they could not possibly insist on taking him back to Lindon, can they?

"White Bears send us a raven. They saw the movement of the Green-skins and the oolves all gathering by this mountain near their home."

Thranduil's ears perked. "Can you take me to this mountain?"

Thranduil was certain that is where they took Aron. And if this was Sauron, the Sinda was certain that Sauron wanted him. The voice in his head, the pain in his arm, they all made sense now. It had been calling for him for the past several months. Thranduil had tried to block the voice from his head, but after hearing what that Orc said, everything clicked into place. That Orc, however, wanted not only him but Elrond as well.

That also meant another thing, that if Sauron knew he and Elrond were here, these people and this village would be in danger.

"I could send raven to Sif's brother. He clan chief there."

"Can someone give me a ride to meet him or someone who can tell me where the Orcs are gathering?" If Sauron wants him and Elrond, then they should not stay together. It would only make it easier for this necromancer. But, if he leaves, Sauron would have to divide his forces. It would be easier for the Silmacils to defend Elrond. And Thranduil was certain Elrond would be their priority. Gil-galad had no heir. Celebrimbor and Elrond were next in line should anything happen to their king.

Thranduil did not worry about other soldiers. Sauron would not bother with them. If he and Elrond were not here, there was no reason for Sauron to send the Orcs here.

"Is there someone who can give me a ride today?" Earlier he left, it was better for everyone.

"My father was having the feast tonight to announce the betrothal of Yrsa and you, but I see that will not happen." Bodvar turned back to his house as he got up. He looked at his house then at the village that lay before him. He turned to Thranduil and said with a resolute voice. "I take you."

Thranduil was grateful, but at the same time, he knew what danger they were walking into. He felt sorry that he even entertained the thought that Bodvar may have had an ulterior motive for helping him and his people. Perhaps he should learn to trust people more. The friends he had made, were they not all strangers once?

"I just need a ride there, nothing more. You have your family to take care of here. They need you here, Bodvar."

"It is our way, ya? To give life for life. I take you and help you find your brother, ya?"

* * *

 **Ulfang** (Sindarin. _Ugly beard)_ -During the First Age, some easterlings crossed the Blue Mountains and entered Beleriand. Ulfang was chief of one of those group of people. He served under Caranthir, fifth son to Feanor. He and his three sons joined in the Battle of the Unnumbered Tears, but he was employed by Morgoth and betrayed Maedhros by delaying him with false reports and later by attacking Maedhros' army from the rear. Elves never forgot this betrayal and it became the seed of distrust between the Men and the Elves. (another victory for Morgoth)

 **Battle of Unnumbered Tears** (Nirnaeth Arnoediad in Sindarin)-the fifth and the last great battle fought in Beleriand. Elves utterly lost this battle. Gil-galad's father, the High King Fingon, and the Dwarven King Azaghal, died in this battle, giving Morgoth complete control of the north.

 **Pengolodh** (Sindarin, _teaching sage_ )—born to Noldorin lord and Sindarin lady, he is known as one of the great loremasters after Rumil and Feanor. He is also referred to as "Sage of Noldor". He was born in Nevrast at Beleriand during First Age. He wrote _Annals of Beleriand_ (stories of the First Age) and edited _Annals of Aman (_ stories of Noldor in Valinor).


	12. New King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel tries to comfort Celeborn. Gil-galad presides over a council meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am introducing a new POV character who will preside over the new region, Eriador. As the story progresses, I will be adding two more new POVs as Gil-galad and Elrond fades into the background.

**Grey Havens. April 3, SA 543**

**GALADRIEL ARTANIS FINARFINIEL** sighed as she felt the salty wind on her face. A seabird let out a cry as it circled over her head before it flew away toward the rising sun. She looked toward the West as she inhaled the scent of the ocean. The refreshing scent of the seawater always smelled like her mother’s hair. As a child in her mother’s arms, Galadriel would bury her nose into her mother’s hair and it would smell like the sea under the dappled summer sunlight. How beautiful her mother’s hair was, glittering under the summer sun, glowing like the strands of a moonbeam in the dark.

_Mother._

Galadriel reached for the invisible silver strands that used to dance like silk ribbons in the wind. Longing for her mother took flight like a seabird and reached across the vast ocean. Galadriel opened her mind wide, hoping to hear even a faint flutter of her mother’s voice, but as always, the sea was silent. And as always, Galadriel’s heart clenched as sorrow washed over her. She dropped her head and stood there, on top of the boulder, feeling the sea air weigh down on her. She fisted her hands.

 _What have I done that was so terrible that you would deny me?_

Galadriel picked up her chin, raising it against the sky and the ocean. Why was it wrong to want to see the new lands, to rule over those who were less than her? Her hands were not stained with blood. And had she not paid dearly by suffering through those long years at the _Helcaraxë_? And once in the Middle Earth, with the blood of her brothers and cousins?

She shall rule this land one day, no matter what anyone would say otherwise. Perhaps in Valinor only sons ruled, but in this land, anything was possible. She would do it for her brothers, for her cousins, and all those who perished fighting to keep this land safe and unstained. It was the least she could do for them, for their dreams and aspirations that died with them.

Soft footsteps on stone made Galadriel turned to look. Lord Istuion was coming up through the stairs cut into the rock that led down to the Crescent Cove.

“My lady,” Istuion inclined his head, his hand on his heart when he saw her. He had come as a messenger from Oropher. And he had brought separate representatives from Amdir, surprising the king and the council.

“How do you fare, Lord Istuion? I am sorry for what had happened.”

“The king had sent two Silmacils, so I believe they will be all right.” Lord Istuion smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. She wanted to comfort him, but she hadn’t been able to comfort Celeborn. Istuion would have been no less devastated by the news.

“The king will do everything in his power. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course. Please excuse me, my lady. I have much to attend to.” With that, Istuion inclined his head again before walking up the stairs onto the Swan Manor.

Gil-galad had arrived at the Grey Havens the day before the _Yestare_ instead of the morning of the New Year as was planned. The moment she saw the king’s face, she had known something bad had happened. But the people expected feasting and merriment and the king and Lord Cirdan officiated the celebration of the New Year as was expected. But this morning, Lord Istuion was asked to dine with the king. She and her husband had been part of the guests to whom the king broke the news of Thranduil and Aron.

Picking up the hem of her dress, she walked down to the cove.

Celeborn stood there, at the edge of the water, his broad back to her. His silver hair, more gold than silver in the early morning sunlight, shone like the strands of moonbeams. So much like the hair of her mother, its beauty struck her heart once more. Sinking her feet into the gritty sand, she stood there for a moment and watched, knowing he was aware of her presence. Throughout the near millennium of their time together, she had never once surprised him.

Galadriel walked behind him, leaned her head on Celeborn’s back, circling her arms around his waist. Celeborn stood erect, his muscles tense, but as her arms drew him in, his muscles relaxed as his hand slid over hers. He leaned back into her. They stood like that for some time in silence.

“It’s not your fault, My Love.” She rubbed her cheek into his neck. She knew how much guilt Celeborn carried, for leaving, for not being there for his brother when he fell in the hands of the Dwarves, for not being there with Oropher when Doriath fell. So many things.

“If Aron and Thranduil are lost, I don’t know if Oropher could take it. It is bad enough that Aron is taken, but Thranduil? I have let Oropher down too many times.” Celeborn’s voice was heavy with grief. “We should never have kept the lad here. He had gone through so much, but to add this burden to him.”

“He is not a child anymore, Celeborn. You never had any control over him, and neither did his father nor the king. Thranduil chose to stay, and you must admit, he learned much from here. We have given him the education he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere else.”

“That is what we tell ourselves to make us feel better.” Celeborn turned around. “But the truth is, he is a prisoner here. He is a political prisoner to appease the desire of the king.”

Galadriel stepped away, feeling the heat on her face. She took in a long breath to calm herself.

“Gil is not doing it for his own good, and you know that. He is keeping Thranduil here for the benefit of us all. Is it not also your desire for us to be united?” Galadriel looked into Celeborn’s eyes. “Isn’t that what we both want?”

Celeborn turned back to the sea. He was silent for so long, Galadriel feared he was closing himself from her again. The years after they received the news of the second and the third kinslaying had been the most difficult in their relationship. Galadriel clenched her fists. She did not want to go through that again, the years when Celeborn would not open himself to her. None of what happened had been her fault. Celeborn never openly blamed her, but she had felt the distance between them as wide as the ocean.

“Please, Love, do not shut me out. You know I do not do well with the gray skies and the endless winter. If the temperature is to drop and the world encompasses in snow, at least let me know that spring is near.”

Celeborn took her hand, kissed it, then pulled her into his arms.

Galadriel closed her eyes, inhaling Celeborn’s scent of musk and the sky.

“Oropher asked me to join him.”

Galadriel sucked in her breath. Oropher had asked Celeborn before, shortly after the start of the new age. But she had not wanted to go. She wasn’t sure she was ready to live among the primitive Elves who lived on trees or holes, and wherever they lived.

“You are the Lord of Harlindon. Surely you do not think of abandoning them.”

“Harlindon is land under Gil-galad. And most of the Sindar in Harlindon are Mithrim who had taken Noldor as their lord. But I am not one of them, Galadriel. You did not want to go east, so I stayed, but Oropher and Amdir are my family.”

“And I? Am I not your family?” She pulled away from Celeborn’s arms.

“Galadriel.”

“And where are we supposed to live in the east? In the caves and dells like the Mithrim when we first arrived in the Middle Earth? If people in Harlindon are not your people, then neither are the Wood-elves in the east.”

“You wanted to see the unknown lands, did you not? Rule over them? Was it your desire to remain under Gil-galad’s rule?”

“The Wood-elves already have a king. Haven’t they already named Amdir their king?” Galadriel had been surprised by this unforeseen turn of the event. If anyone became the king of the Wood-elves, they had all assumed it would be Oropher. Not only was Oropher the only son of her uncle, the first-born son to her grandfather Lord Olwe, Amdir had never shown a desire to lead before.

“Of the Four Trees of Doriath, Amdir was the last person I thought would become king.” Galadriel shook her head.

“Four Trees.” A sad, faint smile hovered on Celeborn’s lips. “I have not heard us called that in a long time.”

The Four Trees of Doriath referred to Doriath’s four princes: Oropher, the beech tree, Celeborn, the silver tree, Celeborn’s brother, Galathil, the white tree, and Amdir whose father name had been Malgalad, the gold tree. The four princes, the grandnephews to King Thingol, had been as close as brothers. It was long ago now when the Four Trees of Doriath had admired her and her brothers. Among them, Oropher had been the closest with her and Celeborn. Now, it seemed the distance between them was wider than Eriador and deeper than the ocean.

“Istuion tells me he is considered king only by the Wood-elves of Lorinand. The other twelve main settlements scattered throughout the great forest in Rhovanion do not back him.”

“What good is that then. Why would he call himself king?”

“He didn’t call himself king, Love. Amdir married the daughter of the lord of Lorinand. It is slightly smaller than the size of the Grey Havens. The people of Lorinand proclaimed him their king.”

“What do other settlements want?”

“According to Istuion, the Wood-elves have a prophecy among them that a great lord will come from the west and lead them through their darkest times.” Celeborn laughed. “And guess how will they know their great lord? By his hair that glitter like the lights of Elbereth.”

Galadriel opened her eyes wide. Hair like the starlight? It could be Celeborn or any of the Sindarin princes, perhaps even herself.

“Then why are they not claiming Oropher their king? He could claim both just as well as Amdir. And Oropher has a better claim.”

“They wanted to, but Oropher would not hear of it.” Celeborn chuckled. “The remaining Wood-elves are split, one side wanting Oropher as their king and the other who still believes the one had not come yet.”

“And how does Amdir feel about that? I know he chose to follow Oropher originally, but he is the king now.”

Celeborn sighed. “Oropher moved across the river to give Amdir some space. According to Istuion, Amdir didn’t feel comfortable with Oropher receiving so much attention from others who believe Oropher, not Amdir, should be their king. To make Amdir feel better, Istuion told me Oropher declared to everyone that unless it was the will of the entire people, every one of the settlements, he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of being their king.”

“Then, I don’t understand why Oropher would want you there? Does he want to separate the east into three small kingdoms among you three?”

Celeborn smiled again, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You do not understand Oropher, Galadriel. Istuion believes, and I agree with him, that Oropher wants to show the Wood-elves that our hair is a norm among us. Neither Oropher nor I have any interest in ruling over others. He went east to seek peace, and as you and I know, a king’s first duty is in the protection of his people. Ruling requires constant vigilance and readiness for battle. Your people seem made for that, but we would rather throw our fishing lines in the water and lay dozing by a lake, to count the clouds and feel the wind.”

“Such dreams are fitting only while you live within the safety of a powerful Maia’s girdle, my husband. That is not reality. Most of us had to live in a real-world full of enemies. And in this world, we have to take when an opportunity comes.”

“I thought you are not interested in living among the Wood-elves.” Celeborn’s sorrowful eyes met hers.

“I said I don’t want to live on trees and decrepit caves like some Nandor from the backwoods. But among my people, many are excellent builders.”

Celeborn’s face darkened.

“Oropher went east to avoid Noldor, and you want to take Noldor to the east?”

“The world does not belong to him. We can go wherever we like. Come, husband, the King’s Council will be in session soon. We are wanted.”

**GIL-GALAD** drummed his fingers on the wooden armrest. Somehow nothing seemed to go the way he wanted. He knew that when Elrond came to him that night before departing the East Fort, the Half-elven wanted to help Thranduil. But he had not known that Elrond would accompany the Sinda. Had Gil-galad known, he would have discouraged Elrond. The king let out a long sigh. Gilmagor would not take the disobedience lightly.

“Do we have any words from Lord Gilmagor?” the king asked when Celebrimbor finished reporting the status of the army at the Hills of Evendim. He had arrived at the Grey Havens last night, much earlier than Gil-galad had expected his cousin to come. Gil-galad didn’t blame him and understood that his cousin didn’t want to miss anything that went on in the Council.

Commander Gwendir stepped forward. “None, Your Majesty. No words as of yet.”

As to the two who were taken, no news had come. And they were what worried Gil-galad the most. He prayed that they were not lost.

But as to Elrond and Thranduil, the king did not worry too much about their safety. Both were formidable warriors themselves. But more importantly, Thoron and Baldor should have gotten to them by now. They were two of the best warriors among the Silmacils.

Thoron and Baldor’s original assignment had not been Thranduil but another matter. Lord Gilmagor had them to scout the area between the Hills of Evendim and Forochel for any possible spies of Sauron. The Lord Commander had been certain that Sauron would send out scouts to gather information on the strength of Lindon before commencing any attacks.

The king hoped that Aron would be recovered soon. If so, Thranduil and Elrond could remain to assist Thoron and Baldor once the Silmacil caught up to them. With Gilmagor and his Silmacils up at Forochel, Elrond and Thranduil would be insulated from having to face any mass number of Orcs. And if their assistance was meaningful, given nothing untoward happened, Gilmagor may show them leniency.

If not, the king wasn’t sure what punishments Gilmagor would deal out to the two captains. By having to look for Thranduil and Elrond, the two Silmacils who already had much to do were being burdened. Despite the desire of the king and the Council, Gilmagor had been reluctant to recruit new Silmacils among the young cadets. And the older soldiers had either retired or preferred more peaceful positions. Over the past four centuries, they had added only a handful of warriors to the Silmacils.

“We agree with Lord Celebrimbor, Your Majesty. Until we hear more from the Silmacils as to what is really happening, we should not take unnecessary actions,” Lord Hathaegor summarized the Council’s decision.

Gil-galad did not disagree. He already had what he wanted which was to alert all the force stationed along the northern borders of Lindon. He was confident of the strength of his border. For the past four centuries, he and Gilmagor had carefully built up the strength of their arms. And the number of Orcs that gathered at Forochel was no match for his army.

“But how does the Council vote on the matter of informing the Dwarves?”

“Same goes for the Dwarves, sire. We feel we do not know enough to alarm the Dwarves,” Lord Hathaegor said.

“As to the Dwarves, even if we were to send notice to them of Sauron’s return, will they believe us? They have closed themselves off from us,” Celeborn said. “Of what they have shown us, it is unlikely they will join us even if Sauron is to attack.”

Gil-galad sighed. For a while, it seemed that the Dwarves were willing to work with his people. That was when Lord Hanar had been the ruler over his people in the north. But, after his passing, Lord Buri, who had been Lord Hanar’s closest living kin, closed off the Dwarven lands to the Elves. Celebrimbor had tried several times to speak with the Dwarf, taking Elrond with him. Elrond said he was confident he could convince Lord Buri whom he had met during the incident at the Dwarven ruin. But Elrond returned crestfallen and grieved. He said the Dwarf was no longer the same person he had met in the ruins. And Buri’s grandson who was the current lord of the Dwarves there followed after his grandfather’s policies.

“As to the Dwarves, we will see upon receiving news from Lord Gilmagor.” Gil-galad glanced at Celebrimbor who sat quietly. “Perhaps, Lord Celebrimbor could inform the Dwarves at Harlindon and they could inform their kin in the north if it comes to that.”

Despite the less than warm reception from most of the Dwarves, somehow Celebrimbor had maintained a semblance of friendship with those Dwarves who lived in the southern end of the Blue Mountains.

“The most important matter, I believe, is about this new kingdom in the east,” Lord Hathaegor said.

Gil-galad rubbed at his forehead. This was something he had not foreseen. He had expected Oropher to lead the Sindar and the Nandor who left Lindon, and he had expected the Wood-elves to follow him. It had never occurred to him that Amdir, who was the youngest among the three Sindarin princes, would take the crown.

“What about it, Lord Hathaegor?” Celeborn raised his head. His blue eyes were frozen. “What bothers you?”

“There should only be one king,” Celebrimbor said. “Oropher said he had no interest in forming his own kingdom. Isn’t that why we let him go?”

“You speak as if he has no right whatsoever.” Celeborn’s voice was cold and hard. Gil-galad glanced at Lord Cirdan, but the elder lord kept silent. The king regretted that he didn’t speak with Cirdan about this matter first.

“Oropher never pledged himself to King Gil-galad. He asked for a leave of the King out of courtesy. If he were to establish a realm far from here, then that is his right. And it is not Oropher who is the king. Amdir is.” Celeborn turned to him. But Gil-galad did not know what the Sindarin lord expected him to say.

“Amdir. Oropher. What is the difference? Amdir followed Oropher so Oropher is responsible for him as they left in the ships we gave them. We gave Oropher the aid, if you had forgotten, Lord Celeborn, the one Amdir shared in.” Celebrimbor sat up in his seat. “Our king allowed him to take the ships and filled them with provisions without which your cousin would not have had enough resources to lead the number of people he did.”

“All for which Oropher’s son is paying back with his service to the king.” The temperature of the council chamber went down a notch by the iciness of Celeborn’s voice.

Gil-galad sent up a prayer of thanks to the Valar that Thranduil was not here. If this matter could make Celeborn, who is usually amicable, this cold, Gil-galad was sure Thranduil would have brought down a blizzard in the council chamber.

“Paying back?” Celebrimbor laughed out loud. “Who is paying who here? We educate, clothe, and feed the young Sinda. He is receiving much more than what he pays back with his service.”

“That is enough!” Gil-galad thumped the table in front of him with his fist. The table trembled from the power of his strength. Everyone stopped talking.

“The matter with Lord Oropher and his son is not the topic of our discussion. That matter is resolved.” Gil-galad looked around the chamber, daring anyone to say otherwise.

“His Majesty is correct. That matter is resolved and no longer up for discussion,” Lord Lammaeg said. “What we do need to discuss is how we should handle the matter of the new realm and what kind of relationship we should pursue.”

“Yes, just allow any one to establish a realm. We will all be united in no time.” Celebrimbor shook his head.

“Then what do you propose, Lord Celebrimbor?” Lady Galadriel asked. “Should we send the king’s army across the vast Eriador and over the Misty Mountains and threaten the Wood-elves that they cannot have their own king? When have we stopped anyone from establishing a realm? Have we not come from across the ocean and established our own kingdoms when there was already King Thingol ruling over Beleriand?”

“We were not just anyone. You know that, Lady Galadriel. My uncles, your brothers, and the king’s father and forefather, they were all from the line of the King. They had the right to rule.”

“In that sense, Lord Amdir is also from the line of a king. He is the grandson of King Olwe and grandnephew to King Thingol,” Lord Cirdan said. “Just as you are, our three Sindarin princes all share in the bloodline of the kings. But even that is secondary to the desires of the people. If people want Amdir as their king, then it is their right. Who are we to have a say in that.” Cirdan looked around the council chamber. “Decide only whether you will be a gracious host to Amdir’s ambassadors. Think about what our goal is. Is it unity or a petty division?”

“If we are to show a united front, how could we achieve that by making an enemy of our kin?” Gil-galad looked across his chair at Celebrimbor.

“The more kingdoms we have among ourselves, the more divisions we will have. At least, have Amdir recognize you as the High King.”

“Did the Noldorin kings ever recognize King Thingol as their High King?” Celeborn asked. “Before the Noldor arrived, King Thingol was accepted by all, the _Mithrim, Falathrim, and the Nandor_ , as their overlord. I do not remember any of the Noldorin kings doing so. Neither did we require any of the Noldor to do so.”

“Should eagles call a thrush a king?”

The color of Celeborn’s face changed. Before anyone could say any more, Gil-galad cut in.

“Please accept my apology on behalf of my cousin.” Gil-galad glared at Celebrimbor. “I am sure he did not mean to insult anyone.”

Celebrimbor got up, touched his heart, inclining his head. “My apologies if I offended you. It was just a figure of speech.”

Gil-galad went on, not wanting to give anyone anything else to say. He could tell the Councilors needed fresh air. At least, he needed one. “The Wood-elves took Lord Amdir as their king. That is a fact. What we need to do is come up with how we can establish a good relationship, not how we should place ourselves above them. This matter should be less about what we want and more about how to work with them. Let us reconvene with a clearer head for our afternoon session.”

Getting up, Gil-galad left the chamber before anyone could say anything else. He had learned through trial and error that the best way to avoid having arguments and insults fly around the council chamber was to give the councilors time to cool down and think among themselves.

* * *

 **Helcaraxë** (Quenya _. Ice spikes)—_ Known also as Grinding Ice, it is a foggy wasteland of clashing hills made of ice far north of the world. It used to connect Aman with Middle Earth until the earth was made round upon the destruction of Numenor. Betrayed by Feanor, Fingolfin (Gil-galad’s grandfather) led his followers through here to reach Middle Earth before the birth of the Moon and the Sun.

 **Yestarë** (Quenya, _First day_ )—New Year, the first day of the year. It was also the first day of spring. The actual date varied among existing calendars. But, in my stories, all Yestarë is on April 1st.

 **Lord Hathaegor** is from Part 1 of the story. He is one of the king’s councilors and the father of Erfaron, Commander of East Fort, who trained with Elrond and Thranduil.

 **Mithrim** (Sindarin, _Grey people_ )--Region around Lake Mithrim, south-east part of Hithlum where Fingolfin and his son Fingon settled with the Noldor who followed them. It was inhabited already by the Sindar and these Sindar were called Mithrim after the name of the region. Many of these Sindar became part of the Noldor who settled there. Later, Sindar who lived in Beleriand outside the boundary of Doriath were referred to as Mithrim.

 **Falathrim** (Sindarin, _Coast people_ )--known also as the Elves of the Falas, these were the Sindar who settled near the sea. Cirdan is their lord.

 **Nandor** (Quenya, _Those who went back_ )--Part of the Teleri who took the journey to the west, following Elwe (Thingol) but did not cross the Misty Mountains. There are two kinds: Laiquendi, the Green Elves, who joined Thingol later and settled in Ossiriand (Their leader was Denethor) and the Silvan Elves also known as the Wood-elves who did not cross the Misty Mountains and remained in the wide forest east of the mountains.


	13. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil rethinks his hasty actions.

**The southern border of Forochel. April 5, SA 543**

**THRANDUIL** sat up in the dark. The wailing of the twin princes was fading, but for a brief, panic-stricken moment, he thought he was inside Menegroth as the fire raged and the smoke filled the halls. Thranduil clutched the leather rope around his neck as he looked around wildly until his eyes fell on a spot of silvery light from above.

Thranduil glanced up at the opening on the ceiling. The moon was bright and the sky was clear. 

Taking a long breath, Thranduil clenched his hands to stop the shaking. It had been a while since he dreamt of Menegroth. His stomach churned. Something bad was coming. Silently, Thranduil got up, careful not to wake Elrond who slept in the bedroll next to him.

As he left the cave, Thranduil noted the guards at the entrance. They did not have guards there until yesterday when a messenger from the White Bears arrived. Tall and lanky, the messenger had the straw hair of Sif and Yrsa. Several warriors and the elders in the village gathered in the longhouse along with the messenger, and when they came out, guards were set up at the boundary of the village and in front of the cave.

When Thranduil sought out Bodvar, he said the messenger brought news of Orcs gathering at the mountain near their village in Forochel. The Black Bears were alarmed. According to Bodvar, they were originally from farther east, at the base of the Misty Mountains. When the Orcs moved near them and began to expand into their territory, Bodvar’s people left rather than engage in conflict, and to live near their kin, the White Bears. Unlike the Black Bears, the White Bears had lived in the snowy tundra by the Ice Bay for as long as Bodvar could remember. As for his people, Bodvar said his people hoped to return to the Misty Mountains one day.

Feeling the eyes of the guards on his back, Thranduil climbed the rocky hillside where the cave stood. When he found a large rock he was looking for, Thranduil sat down beside it. He didn’t want to be seen but wanted to be able to look down at the front of the village.

Taking a long breath, Thranduil tried to bring out his light. A faint light flickered over his hand. It blinked a couple of times then went out. Thranduil smiled. For the past four centuries, he had been able to generate light of his own. It was faint. It wasn’t steady and it flickered like a tiny firefly whose light was barely visible. And among the bright lights of others, and especially compared to the brilliance of Elrond’s light, it was pathetic as lights went. But it was his, and Thranduil was proud of it. As long as he could generate his own light, there was hope. As his mother had said, having hope was to look up, to think positively, and to have faith that Eru was looking out for them. Thranduil wanted to believe that. As long as he could generate his light, even if it was faint as his was, there was hope for him yet.

Clutching his necklace, Thranduil looked out beyond the village. Under the pale silver light of the moon, a wide snow-covered tundra lay ahead. Bodvar said he had talked with Skuld, the messenger from the White Bears, who had agreed to take them to a village of Northmen which was near the mountain.

Thranduil looked up at the fading stars above. The dawn would arrive soon and he would leave here with Bodvar and the messenger. They planned to be gone before the two Silmacils who left early yesterday to scout the area around them return later today.

Thranduil had wanted to leave the day Bodvar had invited him to his home. But the Skin-changer had suggested getting more information from his brother-in-law as he did not know the area around the mountain. Just as they were going to discuss the details, Baldor had shown up. And the two Silmacils had their eyes on Thranduil making it almost impossible to leave without notice. In the meantime, Bodvar sent a raven to the White Bears.

Forced to wait, Thranduil had spent the time planning. This unexpected time had given Thranduil time to think. When he left the East Fort, catching up to Aron had been the priority. He did not know where the Orcs intended to take Aron or how long they would keep his friend alive. Now, Thranduil knew where that warg-rider took Aron. Thranduil also knew that Aron would be alive, at least until the fallen Maia got what he wanted. He was certain Sauron wanted him. What he did not understand, however, was why. He was nobody. He had no power or influence at Lindon. He was the captain of the Royal Guards, but he was also an outsider. He had limited knowledge about the workings of Lindon and the details of its military power. Having disguised himself as a cadet, Sauron would know that much.

Even as the ward of the king, Sauron would know that Thranduil did not have any negotiable value. Gil-galad would not hesitate to sacrifice Thranduil if by giving him up, it meant saving Lindon. Thranduil knew it was nothing to do with whether Gil-galad liked him or not. It wasn’t personal. The king had a responsibility to his people first and foremost. If he could sacrifice one life to prevent war, something that could save thousands, why would any king hesitate?

Thranduil looked toward the east where the sky was brightening. Dawn was coming. The more he thought, the more Thranduil realized he had spent too much time reacting rather than thinking. Perhaps, he had been too hasty. What had Gilmagor said? A leader must know his own weaknesses and know how to control them. Gilmagor mentioned five failings a commander must avoid. Amongst them, the commander had said recklessness and hasty temper were worse than the other three, that of wanting perfection, having excessive compassion, and cowardice.

He could now understand why _Feanor_ , as brilliant and incomparable in every way, failed as a leader. Instead of thinking clearly and carefully, he reacted to what happened around him. Feanor was emotional after the death of his father. He allowed his emotions to color his judgment. His anger and the desire for revenge had clouded his mind and hindered clear thinking. He unwittingly furthered his enemy’s goal, that of spreading misinformation by repeating the lie to his people. He was a good example of a charismatic leader who could not think beyond his own hurts and pride. And Morgoth had played upon Feanor’s weaknesses.

Noldor may blame Feanor’s failure on the doom or even promulgate it as the realization of glory, but as an outsider, Thranduil saw it as a failure of leadership that brought Noldor pain and suffering. They may sing of all the glory and valor they have achieved, but in reality, their early actions lacked wisdom. The high and mighty Noldor who considered themselves the wisest were deceived by Morgoth. They had allowed their pride to blind them. Thranduil was sure the Noldor did not mean to educate him of their failures, but he saw the reflection of his own flaws and learned more from their failures than from their successes. And here he was being hasty and reckless again.

Perhaps he had been too hasty and too focused on pursuing Aron that he had not given a thought to Elrond and his position. And those two Silmacils. What kind of burden did he place on them? There were very few of them left. Every Silmacil had important assignments. And what was he doing trying to do this almost impossible task with only Bodvar? What would happen to Bodvar’s family if something were to happen to him? If Bodvar got injured, or worse, Thranduil knew it would be his fault. He had only thought of going after Aron never thinking about the consequences to others who tried to help him.

Thranduil touched his stomach. This uneasy feeling he felt, it was a warning. He was about to jump into something very dangerous without having any coherent plan. Gilmagor said planning is everything. Even as plans change, one must think of every situation before making a move. Success depended on knowing yourself, your enemy, and being prepared to counter every move the enemy was going to make.

One by one, Thranduil went over the events of the past few days. Sauron trained with them as a cadet. That necromancer knew him and knew Elrond. He knew Thranduil’s temper and tendencies. That Orc telling them that his master wanted both Elrond and him was probably not just a slip of a tongue. He had learned about Sauron and knew the lieutenant of Morgoth was a careful planner. That snake would have known how he would react to Aron’s abduction.

Thranduil took in a long breath to calm himself. Was he playing into what Sauron wanted of him?

Just then, down below the entrance of the cave, he saw Elrond. The Half-elven looked around, then approached one of the guards. Elrond pointed to his hair, then to the ruby stone of his dagger. The guard pointed upward.

His first thought was to hide, but Thranduil decided it was time he talked with Elrond. He could hear Elrond’s soft footfall climbing up the rocky hill.

“Elrond,” Thranduil waited until Elrond was near and called out. “Why are you up so early?”

“I should be asking the same thing of you.” Elrond sat down next to him.

“Are you keeping an eye on me, Peredhel?”

“Well, until Thoron and Baldor return, I am to stick to you like a tree sap.” Elrond grinned.

Thoron and Baldor had gone to scout the area along with the guards from the village. As soon as they return, they were to leave for the Hills of Evendim where the king’s army had a hidden camp.

“So, tell me, Elrond, what do you plan once we get to the camp in Evendim. How will we rescue Aron?”

“The Orcs attacked us. It is a different story now. We need to inform the Council.”

“To do what? Outright war? Are we ready for that?”

“No one is ready for war, Thranduil. We fight because we must.”

“What happened does not amount to a full engagement. None of us died. And unlike us, Sauron lost half of the Orcs and the wolves and the whole of the wargs he sent. Only Aron is lost for now. The king, and more importantly the council, will not entertain war until they feel it cannot be avoided. If I was the king, I wouldn’t.”

Elrond’s face was aghast. “You speak as if you do not care that Aron was taken, that he is still in the hands of the enemy. Wasn’t this all for Aron?”

“Of course, I care. But I know now where to find him and I know they will not kill him.”

“How could you be so sure?”

“Because you and I are what Sauron wants. I think Aron is meant as bait, which means he would not kill him until he has us. Do you remember what that Orc said?”

“I do, but I don’t understand it. How did he know about Aron and you? Even as Gelir, he did not know Commander Aron. And why would he want us?”

“You, I understand. You have all the military information on the king’s army. I am more puzzled about his interest in me. I don’t know anything important.”

“Well, you did stab him.”

“No. He stabbed himself. I told you he took my hands and did the stabbing.”

“Before that. After Astarno struck Sauron, that Maia blasted him off the cliff. I thought you struck him with my dagger.”

“That was more out of desperation. I don’t know how much damage I caused him. Astarno was the one who faced him.”

“Perhaps you wounded his pride. And he wants revenge.”

“Sauron starting this conflict to avenge his pride? That doesn’t sound like what I read about him.”

Elrond pulled at his front braid. Thranduil took Elrond’s hand away. “Stop worrying, Elrond. I have been thinking. I don’t think Sauron will attack us here.”

Thoron and Baldor had tried to convince Thranduil to go to the camp at Evendim, telling him staying here would endanger the villagers.

“How do you know?”

“We have been here for five days and he has not attacked us yet. Either he does not know we are here, which seems unlikely if Thoron was right that we were being watched, or he is waiting.”

“For what?” Elrond looked up, his face tense and drawn.

“For me to come to him.”

“But you won’t go to him. Why would you?”

Thranduil looked away at the tundra beyond the cluster of pine trees that marked the boundary of the village nestled around the arms of the hill where Bodvar’s house stood.

“You are not thinking of going to him. You are not.” Elrond yanked Thranduil’s arm, forcing him to look at the Half-elven. “There is something I need to tell you.”

“I am to meet with Bodvar just before sunrise. His wife’s clan, the White Bears, they live near the Ice Bay in Forochel. There is a mountain near a human village there. The Orcs are gathering there. I think Aron is there.”

“Thranduil, this is a trap. If he wants you there, then that is more reason why you should not go there. I feel you and I should not be anywhere near Sauron right now. Who knows what his intention is? We haven’t heard from him for the past four centuries. He must have plans, to plant seeds of discord among us or maybe even war. Whatever it is, we must not give him what he wants. We should take Thoron’s advice and go to Evendim. Leave Aron to Baldor and Thoron. They said they will join Lord Gilmagor and will work to rescue Aron. You trust them, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. If Sauron wanted war, why spoil the element of surprise by taking Aron and Gwinion? That has only garnered our attention. He wanted us to focus our attention on the abduction. I can’t help the feeling that it was a diversion. There was something else he did not want us to pay attention to.” Thranduil got up. His mind was churning now. The things that had made little sense seemed to fall into place one by one. “Remember that incident with the wolves and the children Eryn mentioned? How hunters were sent out and two went missing?”

Elrond frowned but nodded.

“What if that is related to this abduction somehow? I don’t know how, but I can’t help the feeling that somehow they are related.”

“Stop changing the focus, Thranduil. Whether or not they are related, that is not relevant to what we were talking about. Those hunters may have been delayed. We don’t know. What is important is that you do not go to Forochel. I hope you are not trying to convince Bodvar to give you a ride to that mountain, are you? Please tell me that is not your plan. That is suicide. For once, stop being reckless and listen to me.”

Thranduil sighed. “That had been my plan. I just needed to go find Aron. But, you are right, Elrond. I jump into things without thinking too much about consequences. And I do not listen enough.”

Elrond’s eyes rounded. “What have you done with Thranduil?” Elrond stood up, then poke his finger into Thranduil’s chest. “This can’t be you. You rarely listen.”

“I am trying. Help me, will you? Even if Sauron has a war on his mind, I don’t believe he is ready yet. If we attack him first…”

“Attack? How? The four of us?”

“The troops at Evendim.”

“Impossible. We will need authorization from the council. And even if we had it, we do not have enough information on Sauron and his strength. If we attack now, we will be attacking blindly. Never mind the distance we have to move our troops.”

“I wasn’t thinking full frontal assault, Elrond.”

“Then, what do you have in mind?”

“You said Lord Gilmagor is at Forochel with some of the Silmacil. That means they are looking for information on Sauron and the strength of his arms. I am sure Sauron is already aware of the Silmacils. How about we distract Sauron. I will go to him.” Elrond crossed his arm and shook his head. “Wait, just wait, Elrond. Hear me out. You and Eryn go to Evendim to move around the troops there. If your authority alone cannot, I am sure Thoron or Baldor could authorize that. Just move them from one place to another. You are not doing anything else so you wouldn’t need the authorization from the Council.”

Elrond tilted his head. “You are counting on Sauron watching us and having also his eyes on our troop movements. You just want Sauron to think we are moving our troops. But Thranduil, that can be dangerous. If Sauron feels threatened…”

“If he is not ready for battle as I assume he is, he will either offer Aron to appease us or send out what army he has to deceive us that he is ready. But, if it is the latter, he will empty his mountain, allowing Gilmagor to take advantage of it. I could also use the diversion of Sauron’s attention to rescue Aron.”

“But if you are wrong and he is fully prepared to start a war, we would have provided the reason without the authorization of the king and the council. This is no light matter, Thranduil. Let’s discuss this with the Silmacils. Thoron and Baldor are due to return this afternoon. Perhaps we could go with them and journey to Forochel. Seek the counsel of the Lord Commander.”

“Meet the Lord Commander? Do you have a death wish, Elrond? He will probably hang you upside down for disobeying him, and I don’t want to think about what he will do to me.” Thranduil shuddered. He had learned to have a healthy dose of fear for Lord Gilmagor as did everyone else.

“Nothing we don’t deserve.” Elrond chuckled. “But if you are serious about not being reckless and listening to advice, then this is what we should do. And there is something I should tell you.” Elrond’s face turned serious.

“Perhaps, there is something I should tell you also.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the right time, but Thranduil felt it was time he should tell Elrond about the pain in his arm, and even maybe about the dragon blood. He wasn’t sure if it was related to Sauron, but if he was ever to open up about it, he felt this was it. The dread he was feeling, Thranduil felt it was somehow related to the blood.

“Let me go first, Thranduil.” Elrond rotated his neck as if to release tension there. “Three nights ago, I had a dream.”

“Prophetic kind?”

“I am not sure. I never know for certain.” Elrond turned and looked away at the tundra. He was quiet for a long time.

The sky on the east turned bloody red. Thranduil looked toward Bodvar’s house. He could see Bodvar leaving his house with that messenger from the White Bear village. They were heading to the back of the village boundary where Thranduil was supposed to meet them.

“Hold your thought, Elrond. Let me go tell Bodvar of the change in the plan. Then, we will talk.”

“All right. I will go see Eryn and see how Gwinion is doing. But, you and I need to talk before the Silmacils return.”

Leaving Elrond, Thranduil hurried to the meeting spot. Although it was close to the village, it was private as the rocky hillside hid it from the view of villagers. Bodvar had shown it to Thranduil while giving a tour of the village. Although Elrond and the two Silmacils had been with them, they had not been able to understand the words he exchanged with Bodvar.

“Thrandu,” Bodvar greeted when Thranduil entered the closed-off area. He handed Thranduil a large bag. “Your things, ya? And I have more good news. My father will give you as much help as you require, ya. I told you my father would understand.” Bodvar smiled widely.

“Thank you, Bodvar,” Thranduil bent his head. “But as I said before, you need not accompany me. I would have gone with your messenger on my own.” Thranduil nodded to the pale-haired messenger who he met briefly yesterday. “But that is unnecessary now. I have talked to my friend. I think your prior advice is a sound one. This matter is too dangerous for just us to handle. I will wait for the rest of my friends to return and discuss this matter further before proceeding.”

“Ahahaha!” Bodvar laughed out loud. “I am glad you listen to my words, ya? I know you wise. My father is right. You deserve this.” Bodvar took out a pouch. “My brother-in-law sent it, ya. A very precious, this.” Taking a step closer, Bodvar took out something golden, then clasped it around Thranduil’s neck.

Thranduil looked down at the golden collar.

“What is this?”

“A fine gift, ya? My brother-in-law sent one for my father, and another for you. For saving Hroar.”

“How did he know about that?” Thranduil asked. He felt strange. Something was happening, but he couldn’t tell what.

“Huh?” Bodvar tilted his head. He turned to Skuld. “Ya. How did Frodi know about Thrandu? About him saving my Hroar? I didn’t mention it.”

Skuld shrugged. “I know not. I just follow Frodi’s command.”

Thranduil felt a sudden thirst. Something ignited and spread through his veins. And from somewhere deep within him, soft laughter rose, faint like a spark of fire that burned slowly at first but roaring into a flame that rose higher and higher, burning through and consuming all.

**\-------**

**Feanor** (Sindarized Quenya name, Feanaro, _Spirit of Fire_ )—Known as the greatest of Noldor both in beauty and strength of mind and body, Feanor was famed for being many things, among them craftsman, jewel-smith, warrior and a loremaster. He is credited as the inventor of Palantir, the seeing stones, Feanorian lamps, and his greatest achievement, the Silmarils, the three jewels that brought about the War of Jewels that lasted through the First Age. He is also known for improving the lettering system, Tengwar. He was to Elves what Melkor was to the Valar, the greatest and the brightest who fell. He was the eldest son of Finwe, the first king of Noldor. Fingolfin (Gil-galad’s grandfather) was Feanor’s half brother. He led the Noldor from Valinor to Middle Earth to seek vengeance for the death of his father and to get back the Silmarils from Morgoth. The oath he made in pursuit of those goals led ultimately to the three kinslayings of the Teleri and Sindar by the Feanorians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Holidays. Thank you to all who have read my stories, and for leaving me comments and kudos. Thank you very much. This was a very difficult year for everyone. Please stay safe and let us hope that the New Year bring much better times for everyone. 
> 
> Also, I will be taking some time off from work and take some much needed rest. And on that note, I may skip a week or two from posting. I will try not to, but it is a possibility. Please know that I will return as soon as I can. Thanks.


	14. Words and Emotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond tries to communicate with Bjorn and finds himself in a bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope all of you a healthy and happy new year. This took longer than I wanted--hard to get back into rhythm of things. But, finally, here it is. Thank you to all for being patient. :)

**The southern border of Forochel. April 5, SA 543**

**ELROND** returned to the cave and greeted Mistress Eryn who was changing the herbs plastered onto Gwinion’s wounds. The pale daylight reached into the entrance of the cave.

“Good morning to you, Mistress Eryn. Gwinion. How are you feeling this morning?”

The young Sindarin soldier smiled brightly in reply. “I am well as I could be, sir. Mistress Eryn and the other healer have taken good care of me.” 

“Can you walk?”

“Yes! I got up earlier.”

Eryn shook her head. “Get up, yes. Walk, a few steps. More walk will hinder the mending. Not just outside hurt, inside hurt, too.”

The young soldier rubbed at the back of his head. When he turned back to Elrond, Gwinion’s eyes were clouded. “Have you any news of Commander Aron, sir? I have heard that if you don’t rescue them soon, the Orcs…they….” Gwinion frowned. “Is it true what they say about the prisoners they take?”

“They did not hurt you, did they?” Elrond gazed at the young soldier. He understood Gwinion’s fear. But Elrond trusted Thranduil’s intuition, especially when it was shared by the Silmacils. Three of them believed Aron was taken as bait, and that Sauron will not harm the Sindarin commander until that Morgoth’s Maia got what he wanted.

“We believe Commander Aron is alive. There may yet be hope for the rescue.” If it was not, Thranduil would not have agreed to go with them to the camp in Evendim although now Elrond realized that his friend had other plans. But Elrond knew Thranduil. His friend was unpredictable and stubborn, and he hated having others tell him what to do. But if left alone to think and allowed to make up his own mind, Thranduil never disappointed Elrond. “Try not to worry about it for now and focus on getting better. I don’t know how much you know about the Silmacils, but once they are involved, things always work out.”

Gwinion nodded with a smile. Elrond smiled back.

Once Eryn finished the new binding and helped Gwinion to lie back on his bedroll, she turned to Elrond and handed him the poultice she had made.

“When Huit brings the next batch of herbs, you try to make this. This helps ease pain and itch.” She gestured toward the bowl. “You smell them. Tell what’s in them?”

Elrond took the stone bow and inhaled the scent of the herb mixture. Minty, sharp and sweet, their differing fragrances stirred his curiosity as if each plant was a new book to be explored.

In the past four days, he had learned more about the herbs, plants, and their uses from Eryn than he had at Lindon. He had heard that Green Elves were masters in the knowledge of plants, trees, and all things of the forests, but Elrond had given little thought to them. He learned about healing from the best healers at Lindon. He did not think others would know more than the Noldor. Among all the Elves, Noldor were most knowledgeable. But Elrond found that no one person or group knew everything, even if they were the Noldor and the most enlightened. People had knowledge and experience that were unique to them, and Green Elves had knowledge only they knew or knew better than others. Everyone, it seemed to Elrond, had something they alone could teach and contribute, and Elrond wanted to know everything. And the more he learned, the more he realized how little he knew about the world.

And amongst all the new knowledge, he loved the art of healing the most. It gladdened his heart to see someone unwell well again. Whenever he had free time, he spent it helping Mistress Taurien, one of the court healers.

Mistress Taurien had mentioned that at Valinor, there was hardly any injury to speak of except those that rose out of carelessness born of inexperience, exuberance, and perhaps a drop of stupidity. Only in childbirth was there a true need for healers as the birth of a child took much out of both parents. The need for healers for the couples who were expecting became more prominent after the passing of Lord Finwe’s wife, Lady Miriel, who expired after giving birth to Finwe’s first child, Feanor. She had been the first person in Valinor to enter Mandos. And her death which had shocked and grieved Noldor had influenced some Noldor to take an interest in healing under Vala Estë. Prior to that, Mistress Taurien had said the healing art was practiced mostly by the _Vanyar_ who are considered the most powerful users of inner energy as the healing in Valinor depended less on the herbs and poultices and more on the power of the healers who trained under _Vala Est_ _ë_ _._ Elrond had wondered then how powerful a healer Thranduil’s mother was. How wonderful it would have been to have met her, to have learned from her.

Thranduil had mentioned that his mother had said that the plants and the flowers on earth, unlike their counterpart that exists in the blessed land, had developed unique characteristics different from those that grew and bloomed in Valinor.

Elrond tried to discern the scent and the texture of the many herbs as Eryn checked the condition of other soldiers. The injured soldiers and the hunter were healed except for the one whose arm was broken. Broken bones always took the longest to heal.

The hunter who had an arrow to his leg was the first amongst them to walk about the village, mingling with the villagers. Maybe it was their ability to work with forest creatures, but somehow, Elrond saw that both Eryn and the hunter seem to get along with the Skin-changers even when they understood less of the words this bear-people used. Elrond found this strange since he thought the Green Elves didn’t mingle easily with others.

As with all things, Noldor were quicker than the Sindar or the Nandor at learning different languages. The oldest Noldorin soldier had already grasped some words and could communicate with Huit. And Elrond could discern some words and sounds. At least, he understood the words the Skin-changers used to refer to him and the other Elves. The closest Elrond could translate was that they referred to the Elves as ‘Shiny Eyes’, Thranduil as ‘Flower-head’, and they referred to him as ‘Bear-chest’. Elrond wasn’t fond of the nickname. It made him acutely aware of his differences with the other Elves who lacked body hair, but he preferred ‘Bear-chest’ over being called ‘Flower-head.’

Elrond chuckled. If Thranduil knew what these people called him, the Sinda would feed him to the Orcs for his part in the unfortunate hair color.

“Something funny?” Eryn asked.

“I just remembered what Huit called Thranduil.”

Eryn grinned. “You not tell Thranduil, are you?”

“No. But why is it that they call you by your name, but not ours?”

“Your names hard for them to pronounce. Have simple name like mine and they use.” Eryn chuckled.

Just as Elrond shook his head with resignation, Huit walked in carrying a large basket of herbs and plants, mostly dried over winter. As soon as Elrond saw the healer’s face, he felt his muscles tense. He could tell something was wrong.

“Sun warms you?” Elrond asked in the Skin-changer’s tongue as he heard them use for a morning greeting.

“Ya. Sun warms you.” Huit returned his greeting but lowered her voice as she glanced behind her. “You no eat food. Go … hurt,” she pointed to the back of the cave. “Bjorn no smile….”

Elrond frowned at Huit. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant.

“Your chief angry? Something wrong with the food?” Eryn turned to Huit, making an exaggerated face. The healer woman looked lost.

“Let’s ask one thing at a time,” Elrond said. He turned to Huit. “Go?” Opening his hands, he turned to left and right, hoping she understood he was trying to ask her ‘where’ and ‘why.’ They were such simple words, but difficult to convey.

Huit glanced back to the entrance of the cave again before bending down to draw a circle, then two lines running together that turned and twisted. She pointed to the circle, looked about her then pointed to it again.

“I think the circle is this cave,” Elrond murmured. He pointed to the two lines, then pointed to the back of the cave. Huit looked up, her eyes shiny, nodding enthusiastically. The two lines ended at wide wavy lines.

Elrond pointed to the wavy lines. Huit made a swooshing sound, then took out a water skin and pointed.

“Water. That must be the river. She is showing us a way out of here. There must be a path through the back of the cave that opens to the river.” He looked up at Huit. “But, why?”

Eryn grabbed Elrond’s arm, making him turned to the entrance of the cave. A woman entered who had corn-yellow hair braided and wrapped around her head, something Elrond noted was reserved for married women. The Half-elven recognized her as Sif, Bodvar’s wife. She was hard to miss, not only because she and her daughter stood out as the only ones with yellow hair, but because she and Huit were the only women allowed inside the cave. Behind her, two men followed, carrying baskets containing bread and mead.

As soon as she entered, Sif glanced at Huit who nodded discreetly. Bodvar’s wife smiled widely and greeted Elrond. She offered the bread and mead. With no further words to him and others, she turned, said something to the two men who had sat down on the floor of the cave after handing the basket of food to the Elrond’s people. The men seemed to protest, but Sif held up her chin and barked what appeared to be a command. The men got up and left the cave.

Elrond reached out with his senses. The woman was nervous, all her nerves on end, but Elrond could not tell why, whether it was for Elrond and his people or herself and her people. He wished he could speak their tongue. Not being able to understand and be understood made him feel helpless.

“Lady Sif,” he called out to Bodvar’s wife. “Bodvar?” Elrond looked around him with his hands up, hoping she understood.

“Bodvar go.” Sif pointed to her head. “Flower-head go.” She wriggled her fingers in a motion as if they were legs walking away.

Was she saying Bodvar went away with Thranduil? It couldn’t be. Thranduil said he would return, and he never lied to Elrond.

Elrond shook his head. “Flower-head come.” Elrond pointed to the floor of the cave. “I go” he pointed to Bodvar’s wife “see Flower-head.” Elrond hoped Sif would take him to see Thranduil.

But Bodvar’s wife shook her head resolutely. “You go,” she pointed to the back of the cave. “You here, you hurt.”

“Flower-head go.” Elrond pointed to the back of the cave. “No Flower-head, I no go.”

“Flower-head here.” Sif shook her head. “Flower-head Yrsa” Sif clasped her hands then shook. What had Bodvar’s daughter to do with Thranduil? Elrond could not understand. He wished Thranduil was here so the Sinda could translate what was happening.

Sif walked away before he could ask her anymore. 

“Wait, please.” He followed after Sif who walked with a quickness that surprised Elrond. But he could not follow her. As soon as Elrond stepped out of the cave to follow after her, the two guards by the cave blocked him, their spears held in a threatening position. Elrond called, but Sif walked away without turning back to look.

Elrond faced the two men who stopped him. He did not fear the men or their weapons. Their bear form was fierce, but their weapons were crude, a stick with sharpened bones tied at the end. These Shape-changers were strong physically, but their skill with the spears was lacking in many ways. But, without knowing their intent, or the intent of their chief, Elrond did not want to take any risks that could damage the relationship between his people and Bodvar’s.

Elrond scanned the two men in front of him. After his talk with Thoron, Elrond had shaken off his reservations and used his power to feel the emotions of everyone he came in contact with. He needed to be certain of their safety. He had reassured Thoron of the intent of the Skin-changers because he detected no animosity from the bear people. It was the only reason the two Silmacils left them behind at the village to scout the area.

And even now, with the guards holding him back, Elrond did not detect any anger or threat from them. One of the guards pointed his spear at Elrond then pointed it to the cave. Elrond held up his hands when Huit came to stand next to him. The healer spoke sharply to the guards, and they lowered their spear.

Elrond understood as the guards spoke back to Huit that he and the other Elves were not to leave the cave. Hearing the name of Bjorn, Elrond discerned that it was their chief who ordered them held here.

Huit looked up at Elrond with an apology, but with no further words, she left. Elrond went to talk with Eryn as she took out some breads from the bottom of the basket of herbs Huit brought.

“Huit hid them in her herb basket,” Eryn said. She turned to finish binding Gwinion’s wound with fresh bandages and poultice. “I think we go as soon as we can. They put sleeping herbs in the food men brought. They not bother us for a while until we sleep, I think.”

“Why would they do this? After treating us like friends for days? I didn’t feel they were lying to us,” the older soldier named Daugon said. He was the eldest and ranked highest among the four soldiers. “If we are to go, we must have our weapons returned to us before we can leave.”

The Elven soldiers put on their armor which they had been allowed to keep. But none of them had any weapons except daggers which had not been taken away.

“Huit said she left our things at the end of the cave but no great bows, it seems,” Daugon said as Eryn rolled up the herbs in the basket with the bandages and distributed bread and water skins among the soldiers.

Elrond understood that the Noldorin bows which were bigger and heavier than that of the Nandor’s smaller and lighter bows were too noticeable for Huit to take them out of wherever they were held.

“Go as speedily as you can.” Elrond turned to Daugon. “Head to our camp in Evendim. Do you know the way?”

“Not from here, my lord. This area is new to me, but from the foothills of Evendim, I know the way.”

“I know the area,” Eryn said. “Durion took me to the east soon after we married. We traveled Eriador together. This is far north than we had gone, but if I can see the mountains and the stars, I know the way to the Hills of Evendim.”

“Then you lead the way, Mistress Eryn. Daugon, support Mistress Eryn as well as you can. Tell the commander at Evendim what happened and have him ready the army to move at a moment’s notice.”

“But what of Captain Thranduil and you, sir?” Daugon frowned up at him.

“What will happen to Commander Aron?” Gwinion asked.

“As to the commander, the Silmacils will take over from now on. The rest of you think only of returning to the camp safely. I will go see about Thranduil. But where is that hunter?”

“He left early in the morning. Now that his leg is healed, he wanted to test it.”

Elrond frowned. If the guards didn’t stop the hunter from leaving, the order to put them to sleep must have come later. They hadn’t stopped Thranduil nor him when he went out to look for the Sinda.

“But you, sir. You must come with us.” Daugon seemed determined not to leave Elrond behind.

“You and Mistress Eryn must lead the rest out of here. I will wait for the hunter and Captain Thranduil.” Thranduil said he will return. He wouldn’t have left without telling him first. As long as Elrond had known him, Thranduil had never lied to him. Perhaps Sif thought Thranduil left because that is what Bodvar told her before he met with his friend. Besides, Thoron and Baldor were scheduled to return this afternoon. If there was no one left here to explain to them what happened, Elrond feared how the Silmacils may react.

“But we cannot leave you here alone, sir,” Daugon insisted. “If Lord Commander finds out that we left you here among the hostiles, reprimand alone is not what we will get.”

“Do not fear for me. The Silmacils will be here soon and they will bring additional soldiers. I am ordering you to leave out of an abundance of caution, but these Men will not hurt me.”

“How could you be certain?” Eryn asked.

Elrond held Eryn’s and Daugon’s eyes. “I am not guessing. I know.” He turned to Daugon. “And I am not just telling you, Officer Daugon. As the senior officer, I am commanding you.”

Once the last of the soldiers left the cave, Elrond sat down next to the basket of untouched food and waited. He wasn’t sure what would happen once the Skin-changers determined he and his people were asleep. And where was Thranduil? He should return by now. But more than anything, Elrond wondered what Bjorn had in mind. Why suddenly choose to act against them now? Elrond had not detected any desire on the part of the Skin-changers to deceive them.

_Thranduil? Where are you? Can you hear me?_

Elrond reached out with his mind, hoping Thranduil would respond. Their connection was not always clear, but ever since he had the glimpse of Thranduil’s mind four centuries ago, Elrond found that he could communicate with Thranduil if the Sinda opened his mind. Over the four centuries, studying together under Lord Gilmagor, they had established a clearer connection. But Thranduil was reluctant to open himself fully and disliked using _sanwe-latya_. Elrond did not blame him, and he would not force his thoughts onto his friend. But right now, Elrond needed to know where the Sinda was.

Thranduil, however, was silent. 

It wasn’t until the sun rose above the stone ceiling and its light flooded the cave, chasing away the remnant of the darkness from the corners, that Bjorn’s men came. They were surprised to find Elrond alone, but knowing they could not communicate, they brought him to the longhouse.

The Longhouse was a rectangular structure constructed of wood at the center of the village. It was used as a hall where the villagers gather to meet or celebrate when outside weather was too foul. In front of the house, at the end of the large open space, was a huge stone basin where a fire burned. Through Thranduil, Bodvar had told them that the fire was brought from the burning river deep within a mountain. They had special guards whose job it was to keep the fire burning constantly. This was where people from the village came to get fire for their hearth when their fire went out.

The guards took Elrond to the front of the longhouse. It seemed as if the entire village came to see him and their chief. As he stood surrounded by the throng of villagers, behind the stone basin of fire, on the steps to the longhouse, Bjorn appeared surrounded by his guards. Behind them stood Huit and Sif. Elrond glanced around for Bodvar and the rose-colored hair of Thranduil, but both were nowhere to be seen.

Elrond turned his attention back to Bjorn. The chief of the Skin-changers was a tall man, about a head taller than all others. Thick graying beard hid most of Bjorn’s face. The man’s honey-brown eyes had been warm and filled with wonder and curiosity when Elrond first beheld him. But the Half-elven had been burning with fever from the Orc poison then. The few times Elrond interacted with Bjorn, the man had been jovial and welcoming. The Half-elven had known he could trust Bjorn, and Elrond had never been wrong about his feelings. But this Bjorn who stood before him was a different man. His honey-brown eyes which had looked warm were not golden anymore but red-brown of the river clay that had caught the light of the dying sun.

Elrond flooded the village square with his senses. Like the rays of light, his senses spread through the people who stood around him. He gathered the tendrils of emotions from men and women. When he didn’t sense any hostility from them, Elrond relaxed.

“No see you friend.” Bjorn’s deep voice boomed throughout the open space.

Something scratched the delicate surface of Elrond’s senses. The Half-elven frowned. Something jarred in the resonance of Bjorn’s voice. It was hardly noticeable, too minuscule to be felt by anyone, except Elrond was not just anyone. His senses could detect even the slightest of differences. Elrond scrutinized Bjorn.

Like other bear warriors, Bjorn wore a wolf-fur frock decorated with many teeth and feathers. But there was one decorative item Elrond had not seen before. Around his thick neck, Bjorn wore a shiny gold collar. When his eyes fell on it, Elrond felt his heart stop. It looked like the gold collar that he saw Thranduil wore in his dream. It looked exactly same except the one Bjorn wore was thinner and wider.

A terrible feeling swept Elrond. He couldn’t explain the feeling. It was as if something grabbed hold of his neck and choked a breath from his lungs.

“Where did you get that?” Elrond pointed to the gold collar. “Where is Thranduil? What have you done to him?”

Bjorn grabbed his gold collar, then growled a command. His men turned around to face their chief as if they could not believe what was said. Huit’s face turned pale. She was talking too fast for Elrond to understand the words, but he understood she was protesting Bjorn’s command.

The crowd, which had been murmuring quietly, stirred. There were whispers, then voices spoke here and there. Bjorn turned to them and addressed them. Elrond could not make out the words spoken. What had been murmurs among the people rose up, the sounds that started as a swooshing of wind turned to growls.

Elrond took in a quick breath. The people gathered whose faces had been full of curiosity turned hostile. Something was not right. Elrond could feel it, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He glanced at Huit and Sif. Bodvar’s wife stood erect, her face calm and stoic but the healer’s face turned white as a bowl of milk. Elrond wished he could understand what was said and could speak so that they could understand him. But when he could not communicate with words, what could he do?

With a deep sigh, he filled himself with feelings. Opening his arms, Elrond turned to the face of the bear warriors behind Bjorn. Some of them were the ones who fought side by side with him and his people against the Orcs.

“You.” Elrond pointed to warriors who stood behind Bjorn. They had fought with him on the battle against the Orcs. “We are friends. We fought together.” Elrond fisted his hands in a motion to express fighting. “Friend.” He pointed to himself, then to Bjorn. “We are friends. I don’t understand what you are trying to do.”

Huit who stood behind Bjorn shook her head. “No good. No good. No fight. No Bjorn.”

Bjorn growled as he threw off his fur tunic. The guards behind him beat their chest as one of them handed their chief a spear. It wasn’t the sharpened bone spear that most of the guards had in their hands. Its pole was thicker than Elrond’s arm and twice longer than the ones Bjorn’s guards were holding. And on the tip was not a sharpened bone, but iron dagger glistening like an icicle.

“No. I think you misunderstood me. I don’t want to fight Bjorn. I am a friend. Friend.” Elrond tried the word for ‘friend’ in their tongue, but someone threw him a spear. Elrond caught it but laid it on the floor. “I don’t want to fight you.” Elrond stepped back and away from the spear, his hands raised.

Bjorn bellowed as he took to a run, lifting his massive spear high over his head, the chief of the Skin-changers jumped up straight at Elrond. The young Noldo jumped back, barely missing the first blow.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bjorn turned, then struck again. Elrond swerved to escape the thrust, then jumped up to avoid a sweep.

“Please. I don’t want to do this.”

Bjorn growled then followed with a series of stabs. Elrond jumped up, flipped in the air to land behind Bjorn. Just as Elrond’s feet touched the ground, however, the pole of Bjorn’s spear changed direction and came at him, striking Elrond on the chest. The Half-elven staggered and fell back to the ground. The bearish man jabbed, piercing the ground as Elrond rolled over and over to avoid the deadly stab.

Sitting up, Elrond grabbed the bone-tipped spear he had previously laid on the ground and blocked the oncoming thrust. He tilted the end of his pole toward Bjorn intending to disarm the man, but Elrond had underestimated the man’s strength. The man pulled Elrond in and headbutted the Half-elven.

Elrond stumbled back and looked up as Bjorn thrust his weapon to spear him. He moved in time, but the spear left a gash on Elrond’s side. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Elrond glared at Bjorn then at the people around him.

A strange heat rose from them, dark and hot. Turbulent emotion, seething with volatile energy, surrounded the people. Elrond sensed it and knew even without being told that the fight wouldn’t stop until either he or Bjorn lay dead.

\-------

 **Miriel** (Quenya. _Jewel-daughter_ )—First wife of King Finwe of Noldor. She is also known by her epesse, Serindë (Quenya. _Broideress)_ for her unsurpassed talent in embroidery. Upon birthing Feanor, her first child, she became so wearied that she chose to leave the world of living. She was the first Elf in the blessed land to die (so to speak).

 **Vala Est** **ë** (Quenya, _rest_ )—Vala of healing and rest, wife of Irmo (Vala of visions and dreams). She has a power to heal all hurts. In her Garden of Lorien where she resides with her husband, she provides rest and healing for the Elves of Valinor.

 **Vanyar** (Quenya, _Fair ones_ )—The first and the smallest group of the three Elven clans (others being Noldor and Teleri—Teleri broke into three major groups: Falmari (led by Olwe and went to Valinor), Sindar (remained in ME with Thingol) and Nandor (Green Elves and the Wood-elves)). Vanyar are all golden-haired and did not return to Middle Earth (except during the War of Wrath). They are most beloved of Manwe and Varda. Their king, Ingwe, is considered the high king of all Elves.

 **Sanwe-latya** (Quenya, _Thought opening_ )—telepathy, exchange of information, perception, emotion or memory straight from one mind to another. Only those with strong minds who share some close affinity or shared history could use this method to communicate.


	15. The Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil makes a deal with the demon.

**Forochel. April 7, SA 543**

**MAIRON** could not help his lips curl into a smile.

 _Come closer_ , the Maia commanded. The Sinda’s eyes which reminded Mairon of the aquamarine waters of Aman were unreadable until they landed on Mairon and his throne set up on the top of many stone columns he raised around the round stage. The horror reflected in the Elf’s eyes was enough to make Mairon laugh out loud, but he bit down the mirth. Mairon could control the Sinda’s body, but Thranduil’s mind still kept him out. Mairon tried but he could not break into the ironclad mind. To have full control, he needed to see into Thranduil’s head, but it was hidden behind a heavily locked door. That a mere Sinda could guard his mind so well surprised Mairon.

His Silmacil’s mind had been as heavily guarded, but eventually, it broke, the lock powerless under Mairon’s crafty hands. Now, Mairon had full control of that Silmacil who he could trust to follow his every command even without continuously exerting his power over the warrior.

As to Thranduil opening his mind to him, it was a matter of when not if. It took two moons for that Silmacil to surrender full control to Mairon. Thranduil should take less time, but Mairon did not have time. Elrond was on his way, and he wanted Thranduil ready to face the Half-elven. And the quickest way to achieve full control was to make the Sinda give it up freely.

“Welcome, Thranduil Oropherion.” Mairon stood up from his throne and jumped lightly down onto the ice floor. “You have changed your looks, I see. The color suits you.”

Mairon circled the Elf. The Sinda was rigid, his lips a thin line. Terror was evident in his eyes, but even with overwhelming fear, there was defiance there.

Having stopped in front of the Sinda, Mairon chucked Thranduil’s face with his hand and looked into Thranduil’s eyes.

“You should be grateful that I thought you worth keeping.”

The Sinda’s lips moved but no sound came. “Ah, I forgot to allow you to talk. Did you want to say something?” Mairon smiled into the Elf’s face. “I am generous if nothing else. Talk, then, my slave.”

“I. Shall. Never be. ‘Your’ anything.” Thranduil’s words trembled as they hissed between the Sinda’s clenched teeth.

“Unfortunately, I disagree. You are mine. You belong to me now. You will die or live by my words.” Mairon laughed aloud, throwing his head back. Then, he stopped and wrapped his long fingers around Thranduil’s throat. “You should be honored. It is a rare gift I give. You do understand how easy it is for me to kill you.” Mairon squeezed the white neck. These Elves, unlike his fellow Ainur, were so delicate. Beautiful but fragile, these Elves were like flames of a candle, flickering, frail, and oh so very easy to snuff out. 

“I rather die than be used by the likes of you.” Thranduil’s eyes burned.

Mairon grabbed Thranduil’s face. “’Likes of me’? I am the greatest of all the Maiar. You should be honored to serve me. I can be a generous leader.”

“You are no leader. No true leader lies like you do to hold onto power.”

“And what are these ‘lies’ you speak of? That my master was the greatest of the Valar? That is the acknowledged truth. He pitied the Noldor and helped the greatest of your kind to see the truth, a truth that other Valar hid from them.”

“What do you know about truth? You know only lies and deceit.”

“Ah, yes. The lies the Noldor spread to cover their revolt and their greed. Did you know why Noldor came to the Middle-earth, Thranduil Oropherion? Did you really think all of them came here just to get back their jewels or to take revenge? Don’t be naïve, young one. They came because they wanted to rule over the people here. After all, Noldor think themselves above all of you. What do they call themselves now? High Elves? What does that make you? Low Elf? Is that what you think of yourself and your people?”

Mairon grinned seeing the conflict raging in Thranduil’s eyes. Lies were only good if listeners believed them. And people were more likely to believe the lies when they were clothed in some truth, especially if they are the things they believed in their hearts or things they wanted to believe. Was that not true for all things? Sellers were most successful when they sell items people want the most. When the buyers were eager to buy, they tended to see less of the defects, even when such defects were glaringly obvious.

Selective blindness. Ignorant or the wise, that did not matter. When one could not see clearly, no amount of knowledge helped them open their eyes. And the ones with the greatest amount of anger were the easiest to convince.

“Do not mistake, Thranduil. Valar do not care about you or your people. Nor do they care about this land. If they did, do you think they would have sat and watched while the innocent lives bled? Remember what happened when the Valar finally sent their army? They tore the lands asunder, sank the most beautiful part of the Middle-earth. Your beautiful home sits now at the bottom of the churning ocean. Your Valar did that, not Lord Melkor. They killed your people and took your home from you. Oh, my apologies. Actually, Noldor did that one.”

Thranduil glared at him, but the fire burned less brightly in his eyes.

“These Noldor will act as if they are the wisest and the most enlightened, but mind my words, Thranduil Oropherion. They scheme to rule over your people and all living things on Arda. They left Valinor out of their desire for power. You think Noldor will remain peacefully in the west and let you and your father’s people live in peace in the east? Think again, my young slave. Once they are settled enough in the west, they will slowly spread to the east. They will not stop until they rule over all of you. If Lord Melkor was not there to stop them, do you think anyone would have stopped the Noldor from eventually taking over Doriath? How long do you think those Noldorin princes would have satisfied themselves with taking only those Sindar outside Doriath as their people? Those who were rightfully the people of Thingol, hmmm? In the end, who was it that destroyed your beloved home? Not us.”

“I. Am. Not. Listening. To. You.”

“You need not listen to me. But these Noldor are not your friends. You should look to your own kin.”

Mairon snapped his finger then pointed to the ice wall behind him. The wall which had been dark illuminated to reveal a large cell whose four walls consisted of ice. Through the clear walls made of ice, you could see someone sitting inside. The prisoner stood up when the light shone over his cubic cell. 

Mairon noticed Thranduil suck in a quick breath, but the Sinda did not cry out.

“Your friend is safe as you can see. I made sure no harm befell him.” Mairon grinned.

The Sindarin prisoner was pristine as Mairon had given the Sindarin warrior a chance to clean himself and given him a change of clothes. One thing these Elves and he shared was their dislike of dirt, grime, and blood. Left alone in a cave with fresh water by his feet, the first thing the Elf did was to clean himself of the Orc blood and dirt.

“How do I know if he is real? He may just be a shadow. I know how you deceived Gorlim.”

“Good. You question before blindly following. People who follow blindly without demanding evidence and examining it are fools. And if I wanted fools who follow blindly, I have Orcs for that.” Mairon whistled a tune and the front side of the cell wall slid away.

“Aron,” Thranduil called and the prisoner who had stepped back looked out.

“Thranduil?” The Sindarin soldier stepped out of the ice prison and came an arm’s length away from Thranduil when the chain around his neck pulled him back.

Thranduil’s muscles flinched. Mairon knew Thranduil wanted to go to Aron, but he had not given the Sindarin princeling the freedom to move.

“Your mind may not be mine yet, but your body belongs to me,” Mairon whispered into Thranduil’s ear.

“Are you hurt?” Thranduil called out to his friend, ignoring Mairon.

The prisoner shook his head. “No. They didn’t hurt me. How about you? Do not listen to him, Thranduil. He controls the Orcs. One who controls Orcs must not be listened to.”

“Do not fear for me. Take care of yourself.”

Mairon signaled the Orc standing by Aron’s prison. The Orc yanked back the chain, forcing Aron back to his icy cube. He stepped back into the cell clutching the chain around his neck.

Thranduil turned to Mairon. “You got what you want. Let him go. You don’t need him anymore.”

“You are right. I don’t need him anymore. I could just kill him.”

“No!” Thranduil’s face crumpled.

“Or I could let you kill him.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened, but he shook his head.

“Doubt me? You still do not know your position. Have you not realized yet that I can make you do anything?” Mairon let that sink in. “Take out your dagger,” Mairon commanded.

Thranduil shook his head, but his hand grabbed the dagger from his waist.

“Go strike your friend.”

Thranduil’s eyes grew wild as he took a step toward Aron.

“No!” Thranduil’s word came through his gritted teeth, sharp and pained. He halted.

Mairon could feel the strain as Thranduil struggled to fight his command.

“Do it!”

The Sinda’s body shook. His legs trembled. Mairon asserted himself onto the dragon's blood. The golden collar around Thranduil’s neck flashed.

“Aaaargh!” Thranduil’s body trembled as he roared out a growl, but he was no match to the combined power of the dragon blood and Mairon’s sorcery. Thranduil dragged his feet and took a step, then another. Slowly, but inevitably, his steps increased in speed.

On Mairon’s hand gesture, the Orc standing by the prisoner yanked the chain forcing Aron to kneel. The prisoner looked up as Thranduil dragged himself and finally stood above Aron, the dagger shaking in his hand.

 _Strike him_ , Mairon commanded. Thranduil’s hand holding the dagger shook, but he refused to move his hand.

Mairon frowned. This Sinda, this insignificant, lowly Elf of these mortal lands, pushed against his Maiarian strength. Where did this Sinda’s strength come from? From the warriors of the Silmacil, Mairon had expected the strength and the will to defy him, but from this Sinda born of these lands? Without a drop of blood from their superior Noldorin kin?

Mairon fisted his hand. The air crackled with his power. Thranduil raised his daggered hand for a strike.

“Please.” When Thranduil’s sword pointed at Aron’s neck, the proud Sinda begged.

“Don’t give into him, Thranduil. Do not let him use me as bait. I rather die than be that. I rather die by your hand…” Thranduil’s hand struck.

But before the dagger could strike Aron, Mairon pulled back Aron’s chain, then sealed the ice cell with a clear wall allowing both Thranduil and Aron to see each other but not hear each other. The dagger grazed the ice wall.

“Stand down,” Mairon commanded.

The dagger clattered onto the floor, and Thranduil stumbled back as if his legs could no longer support him.

“I could have allowed you to kill your friend if I truly wanted that. But I am not that cruel, Thranduil. As long as people do not force me into becoming one, that is. Believe it or not, I do not like blood. And unnecessary bloodshed even more so. But, if you force my hand, I can and I will. So, do not test me.”

Thranduil glared up at Mairon. “What do you want with me?”

Mairon turned and snapped his fingers, revealing another icy cubical cell.

“Recognize him?”

Thranduil sucked in a breath and went rigid.

Unlike Aron, the second prisoner was in a pitiable state. His disheveled clothes and hair were spattered with both black and red blood. Breaking the old Elf was necessary to dishearten the warriors of the Silmacil. They needed to see how weak their leader actually was.

The old Elf who lay crumpled on the floor of the ice cell looked up.

“What have you done to him?” Thranduil’s voice trembled.

“Do you really care, Thranduil? Has he not tormented you? I am giving you a chance to return to him all that you have received.”

“Why would I?”

“Why would you not? Do you not want revenge for what he has done to you?”

“What has he done except to teach me?”

“Ah, I see. The Noldor have tamed you, have they not? You have become their dog to be commanded. Pity, that.”

“That’s not true.” Thranduil shook his head.

“Is it? So, you forgave them for all the death they caused? For all the loved ones they took from you? Your mother and brother…”

“Do not talk about them,” Thranduil growled. His eyes flashed like the spark of fire when one hammers a heated sword. “You know nothing of my loss or the grief of my people.”

“I know more about loss than you think.” A fire erupted from Mairon, igniting his red hair into a flame. The grief he had guarded carefully for uncounted millennia burst out of him. With an effort, Mairon seized the fires that surrounded him and held them back. The look in Yavanna’s eyes still hurt even after all those uncounted years. Why the image of her face suddenly came to his mind, Mairon did not know, but he did not like it.

Thranduil stepped back, his eyes filled with fear.

“You want to keep your friend alive, then kill him instead. That is the choice I give you.” Mairon raised his hand and the front wall of the second cell slid open. Gilmagor sat up and looked out.

“Thranduil?” Gilmagor’s voice was hoarse as he looked at Thranduil then at Mairon.

“I won’t kill him. I won’t kill for you.” Thranduil shook his head vigorously.

“Then, you will lose your friend as well as your Lord Commander. You can lose both or kill one. Your choice.”

“I refuse to play your game.”

“But the game will play you, Thranduil Oropherion,” Mairon raised his hand.

The chains attached to the roof of the two ice cells moved and each cells containing Aron and Lord Gilmagor moved over the bubbling magma that surrounded the round stage Mairon had erected in the center of the chamber.

“Thranduil,” Gilmagor called out in his shaky voice. “He will try to take your soul. Don’t let him, lad. Stand firm. Don’t give in. Think not of us, but yourself. He will kill us all no matter how you de…”

Gilmagor’s words cut off as Mairon snapped his fingers and the wall closed blocking any sound from him. He allowed the front wall to be clear so they could see even if they could not hear.

“Kill me now because I will not do it.” Thranduil glared at him, but Mairon had expected that much. Had Thranduil gave in too easily, he would have been disappointed.

“Is your life so expendable that you would give it up so freely?” Mairon sneered. “Have you already forgotten that I can control you?” Mairon glanced up at the two prisoners hanging just above. They were banging on the ice wall, trying to tell Thranduil not to listen to him. But only he could hear what they were shouting as the clear ice wall suppressed the sound so that only someone with his Maiarian ability could hear it.

“Listen well, Thranduil Oropherion, as I offer this only once. I set up a stage you see before you because I want to be entertained. I am sure my dislike of Elrond is not unknown to you. I want to see this son of Earendil fall. But killing him would be too easy and rather boring. I would like you to fight him for me.”

Thranduil scoffed aloud. “And why would I entertain you, and by killing a friend?”

“Well, you wouldn’t have a choice. I can command you and you will obey just as you almost killed your Sindarin friend. I can command it, then you will lose not only Elrond, but also Aron and Gilmagor as well.”

Thranduil’s eyes burned with hatred. Mairon was glad to see it. The more Thranduil hated, the easier it became to control him.

“But there is another option. Fight Elrond. If you win, I will let Aron and Gilmagor live.”

“And why should I believe you? I won’t kill Elrond. Even if I wanted to fight Elrond which I don’t, Elrond’s skill with swords is such that I don’t know if I can win against him.”

“I didn’t say you need to kill him. A stab in the heart would do. If the half-breed survives, then that is his luck. I will let all of you live. But, if you lose, I will not only kill him, but all of you as well.”

“And why should I believe you? What guarantee is there that you will let them live even if I succeeded in defeating Elrond?”

“You should know that a promise given by any Ainur must be kept. Only lower beings break their words. You ought to know that.”

“Is that how you tricked Gelir to surrender his body?”

“’Tricked’? I kept my word and prevented his friends from being surprised by the Orcs. It was Gelir who tried to trick me by offering me a body he thought would not survive. Had I been a lesser spirit, he would have gotten away with his bad faith.”

“And Gorlim?”

“I promised to unite him with his wife, and I did. If he had misunderstood, that was no fault of mine.”

“Ah, so if I misunderstand, it is my fault, is it?”

Mairon laughed out loud. “But, I would think you are wiser than that man. Are you not? How about this? I will allow you to word the terms. Of course, those terms have to be acceptable to me. What I want is for you to defeat Elrond utterly, either have him kneel before me or strike him in the heart. It really should not be a difficult choice. Their death or a chance to save all of them.”

“Why should I believe that you have done all these, kidnap Aron and the other soldier, just to see Elrond and I fight?”

“You need not. That kidnapping was a diversion to focus Gil-galad’s attention elsewhere. I only noticed you and Elrond later when you were on the trail of the prisoners. I had a chance to lure both of you here and I took it.”

“Why were you trying to divert the king’s attention?”

“Enough!” Mairon frowned. “Let’s focus, shall we? My patience is running thin, Sinda. And I am more than willing to throw those two into the fire. Name your terms or choose to die along with your kind. I do not care one way or the other. I aim to see Elrond dead or defeated.” _Also humiliated and disheartened_ , Mairon added with a secret smile. _And most of all,_ _to lose all trust and faith_.

Thranduil glanced up, his eyes unreadable. He looked up at Aron and Gilmagor inside the ice cubes for a long while. The two prisoners seemed to have given up and sat leaning against the one wall. For a moment, Mairon thought the Sinda would not bargain.

“Give me your word that you will allow Aron, Lord Gilmagor, and Elrond to leave this mountain and return to their homes safe, alive and well, untouched by you or your underlings.”

“I can promise that, but what of your promise to me?”

“In return, I will pierce Elrond's chest. If he survives, you will allow him and me to leave and return home.”

“If I am to give up two lives, three if Elrond survives your sword, I think I at least deserve to keep one life. You will stay to serve me.”

“Then I am the only one who takes all the risks. If I win, my friends live but I lose. If I lose, all of us lose our lives. How is it a bargain when one party takes all the risk? Either kill us and be done with it or take the chance as I do. If there is no hope for me, why should I risk it all to fight for you? Would you?”

No, he wouldn’t. Why would anyone take a risk where there is no benefit to himself? Mairon glanced up at the two prisoners. Their death or survival did not matter to him. They were just two flies caught in his trap. Even Thranduil and Elrond were only small baits. The real prize was at the end of the web. His aim was far-reaching, far beyond Mairon’s desire for revenge against Elrond and all that he represented. For a bigger prize, he could make this little concession. After all, the chance that the Sinda could win against Elrond was slim.

And even if Thranduil managed to stab Elrond without killing him, Mairon could make sure the Half-elven did not survive, or better yet, a drop of the dragon blood he had applied to the sword tip would make certain he will benefit either way. Yes. He really had nothing to lose even when Mairon recognized how Thranduil avoided saying he would ‘penetrate the heart’ as he wanted the Sinda to say.

“Fine. I accept your terms.”

“So begins the deal with the demon,” Thranduil said. “So be it.”

“Now then, kneel,” Mairon commanded. He watched with satisfaction as the Sinda bent his knees before him.

Thranduil’s eyes widened for a moment, his breath turned rough, but the Sinda quickly erased emotion from his face.

Mairon took out the black sword he had remade from the broken sword found at the foot of _Amon Gwareth_ where Gondolin once stood. Mairon had never thought about the broken, half-burnt body laying next to the sword until he read about _Maeglin_ and his father _Eöl_ from the Noldorin history.

“Take it. With both hands. This will seal our deal.”

With shaking hands, Thranduil took the black sword. The Sinda gritted his teeth, but his body had no choice against Mairon’s command. Mairon smiled knowing how this would look to the two prisoners who could see but not hear what was happening below them.

“Do you know to whom this sword belonged? Although I had reforged it, this used to belong to Maeglin or rather his father, Eöl. I believe, it used to be called Anguirel, Iron of the Everlasting Star. Maeglin stole it from his father and used it against the Gondolindrim. How appropriate that you would use it against Elrond.”

Mairon laughed out aloud. Oh, this was going to be so much fun, the duel between Thranduil and Elrond.

\--------

 **Gorlim** —one of the twelve warriors under Barahir, the lord of Dorthonion and Beren’s father (so Elrond’s forefather through his mother Elwing). Sauron used the image of Gorlim's wife to lure and capture him. Promising to unite him with his wife, Sauron convinced Gorlim to reveal the information that led to the capture and death of Barahir and his men. In return for the information, Sauron killed Gorlim, thus ‘uniting’ him with his dead wife.

 **Amon Gwareth** —hill on which sat Gondolin, the last Noldorin city to fall in the hands of Morgoth (Melkor)

 **Maeglin** (Sindarin, _Sharp Glance_ )—son of Eol and Aredhel, Turgon’s sister. He was in love with Idril who married Tuor (Earendil’s father). Captured while seeking ore, he betrayed the location of Gondolin to Morgoth when the Vala promised Maeglin Idril and the rule of Gondolin. While the city burned, Maeglin tried to kill Earendil and take Idril, but was thrown off Amon Gwareth by Tuor.

 **Anguirel** —twin sword to Anglachel (sword Thingol gave to Beleg and later remade into Gurthang used by Turin). Eol forged both swords out of meteorite. He gave Anglachel to Thingol as a price to leave Doriath and establish his own place in Nan Elmoth. Anguirel he kept for himself but Maeglin stole it when he left Nan Elmoth with his mother and fled to Gondolin.


	16. Betrayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Silmacil warrior warns Elrond of a traitor among their midst

**Forochel. April 7, SA 543**

**ELROND** sighed with relief when Baldor emerged out of the freezing water with Bodvar, now in his human form, clutched in his arm. While Thoron and Durion pulled the two people out of the water, Elrond spread the blanket he had warmed over the campfire, enfolding Bodvar’s body and laid him on the floor with the help of Neldor, the hunter from Taurobel.

The sinking sun threw a deep red shadow onto Bodvar’s unmoving body. Taking a long breath to calm himself, Elrond felt Bodvar’s pulse, then let out a long sigh of relief.

“Well?” Baldor asked.

“He lives.”

Baldor grinned before wiping off the freezing water and putting on his mithril mail and the gray leather armor again, standard armor and mail issued to all Silmacil warriors. Elrond fingered the mithril mail he wore under his armor. It was slightly tight as it was fitted for Thoron, but the Silmacil had given him no choice.

“Why are we helping him when he is one of the Skin-changers?” Durion asked.

“I am of the like-mind with Durion. Bodvar’s father almost killed you,” Thoron said as he helped Baldor put on his armor.

Neldor stirred the fire, adding more dry bushes he had collected. The fire ignited instantly, rising into a high flame. Elrond pulled Bodvar’s body closer to the fire as he dared, welcoming the much needed warmth.

“He didn’t kill me. If Bjorn did not stop the people from attacking me, I would have died.”

“Yes, but his people tried to kill you.” Thoron’s eyes were dark and stormy gray.

“Only because they thought I was trying to burn their chief.” Elrond shuddered, remembering the fire that engulfed the enormous bear Bjorn turned into.

As a bear, Bjorn’s strength was beyond what the Half-elven could counter. When Bjorn threw Elrond, the bear chief had knocked over the stone basin containing the fire from the mountain. Elrond’s nimbleness spared him the danger of the spilled fire. But when Bjorn lunged, Elrond picked up one of the burning logs with his spear and threw it at the Skin-changer. It was more reflex than the desire to kill the chief. But the fire had engulfed Bjorn instantly when it caught on his fur.

Bjorn changed back to his human form, but there were fires on his beard and the hairy body. Had Elrond not threw him down on the ground and rolled him over, Bjorn may have burned to death. But saving their chief had not stopped his people’s anger and horror.

If Neldor had not intervened, followed by Thoron, Baldor and Durion, the people at the village would have torn him into pieces. With no way to communicate with them, the Elven warriors had been prepared to kill. It would have been a massacre. Elrond’s stomach churned at the thought. But Bjorn, still smarting from the burns to his face and body, had stopped his people and allowed Elrond to leave.

“He turned into that bear. If he didn’t mean to kill you, why did he change?” Durion said.

“If I didn’t leave that gash across Bjorn’s face, he may not have turned into his bear form.” Elrond winced, remembering Bjorn’s physical change in front of him. Unlike other bear warriors, Bjorn was a skilled spear-wielder. It had taken all of Elrond’s effort to counter him. He was fighting for his life, at least it felt like that. But he had not meant to strike Bjorn on the face. The bear chief had reacted by changing into his bear form in front of him.

“That was disturbing,” Durion said. “I have seen the Skin-changers when they used to live along the Great River under the Misty Mountains, but I have never once witnessed them turn into a bear. It was a gruesome sight.”

Elrond could not agree more. Hearing those bones crack and pop as the man’s hair grew and increase in size, there was something terrifying in it. 

“Bjorn’s actions should not be pinned to Bodvar. I don’t know why his father attacked you, but Bodvar fought with us against the Orcs. Any man who does that is a friend, even if his father acted otherwise.” Baldor peered down at Bodvar. “And Bjorn did let us leave the village with you.”

Thoron picked up one of Bodvar’s arm and scrutinized. “I find it strange that he was drowning. Bears are excellent swimmers. It would take a lot to knock out someone like him.”

Nodding, Elrond took Bodvar’s other side. When he beheld the cuts inside Bodvar’s elbow then at the back of the man’s knee, he looked up.

Thoron met Elrond’s eyes. The Half-elven knew what Thoron was thinking even without him uttering a word.

“What’s wrong?” Baldor asked.

“The cuts. Someone knew exactly how to incapacitate this man.” Thoron closed his eyes briefly.

“He slashed the inside of Bodvar’s arms and the back of his legs,” Elrond said quietly.

“I can’t imagine anyone getting that close to the Skin-changer to be able to do that. And the speed and the accuracy required even if he was close enough. I don’t know of any Orc that is skilled enough.” Durion moved over to look.

“It’s not any Orc. The cut is too clean. Too precise.” Thoron let out a sigh. “It’s our weapon that did the cut, and only another Elven warrior would be quick enough to do this. A highly skilled one.”

Elrond swallowed, then examined the wounds again. The cuts were deep enough to disable, but not so deep to make the damage permanent. It was no mere Elven warrior. Few had the skill necessary for the restrain or the accuracy to cut like this.

“Didn’t you say Bodvar was with Thranduil the last time you saw him?” Thoron asked.

“What are you suggesting?” Durion’s face turned dark and fierce.

“I am just trying to piece together what happened.” Thoron shrugged without looking up at Durion who stood over him. “Your friend is more than skilled enough to do this, and he was seen last with this Skin-changer. That is all.” Thoron looked up.

As far as Elrond knew, Thranduil was with Bodvar before they disappeared. But why would he do this to Bodvar? Thranduil would not have. Elrond was certain.

“We don’t know if Thranduil did this, and even if he did, I am sure there is a good explanation.” Elrond would not believe it. Bjorn and his people attacked him. The Skin-changers had behaved differently than what Elrond had originally sensed. Perhaps it was his senses that had been wrong.

“This man attacked him. That would be the only explanation.” Durion’s eyes turned into the gray of the winter sky.

“I said nothing about his motive. Just that Thranduil is most likely the person to have done it.”

“Come, come. We shouldn’t assume anything,” Baldor said as he padded Durion’s back. “We are all friends here. We all share the same goals, do we not? As Mablung used to say, ‘we ought not fight among us when we are in front of Morgoth’s doorstep.’ He was a good friend. Was he not, Thoron?” Baldor laughed as he pulled Durion away, inserting himself between the two warriors. “By the way, I always wondered, how is it you look more like your maternal uncle than your father or your father’s brother?” Baldor pointed to his hair. “Didn’t both Beleg and his brother had white hair?”

Durion shrugged. “They say dark hair always wins over the light ones. Unfortunately, none of my siblings had my father’s white hair.” Durion smiled, pulling at his warrior braid. He was a lot like Baldor in temperament, Elrond noticed.

The Half-elven marveled at the seamless way Baldor reminded them of their need to work together while changing the subject. “My family as well. Look at me and my brother. My father has golden hair and my foremother on my mother’s side had silver, but we both ended up with a dark-hair.” Elrond touched his head.

Thoron started singing the healing spell, and Elrond sat across Thoron to help heal the other side.

“Well, it is now up to him to heal. Skin-changers are quick healers compared to other Men I had seen so he may wake up soon enough.” Thoron got up. “ I am going to take a look around and see if we can determine the whereabouts of Lord Gilmagor.”

“I’ll come with you.” Baldor got up.

Darkness descended onto the snowy ground. There were no stars in the sky tonight.

“What is that light? It is moving?” Elrond pointed to something that flickered then disappeared.

“Bats, I think,” Neldor said. “Probably from the caves in the mountain.”

Thoron turned to Elrond. “Do not wander alone. Please.” There was almost a pleading look in his eyes. A needle punctured his heart, and Elrond nodded.

When they left the bear village, Thoron made Elrond solemnly pledge that he will obey their commands. Even then, Elrond knew that if Thoron could, the Silmacil warrior would rather that Elrond returned to the East Fort. But with Durion insisting on going to the mountain to look for Thranduil and Aron, Thoron decided it was safer to bring Elrond along with them rather than leave him to return with only Neldor as a company.

When Thoron and Baldor returned to the village, just in time to witness Bjorn’s transformation into his bear form, only Durion had accompanied them.

According to Durion, the first battle was a chaos because of the sudden rush of fogs that had blinded them. They had pursued the Orcs, but the fog hindered them and they had gotten lost. By the time they caught up to the main Orc force and destroyed it, it was days later. They had traced their steps back and came upon the battle scene of the Orcs and the wolves. Having seen the scale of the battle there, the lieutenant thought it prudent to return to the East Fort for more troops.

Durion had left them, and he was tracking the trail to the bear village when Thoron and Baldor found him.

When the two Silmacils left, Elrond turned to Durion. “Do you think they made it back safely?”

“They have Eryn with them,” Durion said, his eyes turning soft. “That woman can find her way anywhere as long as there is the sky above her and the earth below. She will keep them safe. You need not worry about them. I had hoped she was with Thranduil. Then, I wouldn’t have worried.” Durion sighed, looking down at his feet.

After hearing about Eryn and the other soldiers, Durion had decided to come with them rather than go after his wife saying he was confident that she could take care of herself, that she would have wanted him to go on.

“Thranduil is a good tracker, too. I never had to worry about finding my way when he was with me.”

“Yes, he is a good tracker. But that is not what worries me.” Durion turned to look down at Bodvar.

“There are several Silmacils here. You know about them?”

A corner of Durion’s lips crept up. “Yes. I worked with them for a while when they were at the east. Quite formidable warriors, they are.”

“I heard your father was a special agent like the Silmacils. At least Thranduil said so.”

“Did he, now?” Durion laughed. “Yes, I suppose he was that.”

“Quite an honor to have people like that in your family. But, then, you have famous uncles, don’t you? Both Beleg and Mablung. Are they not the two most famous Sindarin warriors?”

“Well known to the outsiders, certainly. But to be the last of both their lines, it is a burden.” Durion picked up his weapon, a small axe head on one side and a circular hook on the other, a strange weapon for a Sindarin warrior.

“I know what you mean.” Elrond met Durion’s eyes when the Sinda turned and gazed at him. Elrond understood what it meant to be the last of the line of those who were considered great by others. It was a burden indeed.

Neldor got up where he sat stirring the fire. “I go gather more sticks for fire.”

“I will go with you. We shouldn’t wander alone around here,” Durion got up and followed after the hunter.

Elrond wondered if he should not have mentioned Durion’s father. Thranduil had said they never had a definitive word about Durion’s father who worked for the king gathering information around Dorthonion after the Battle of the Sudden Flames. The last thing they learned was that he was taken by Sauron’s hunters. He never returned and no words of him ever came back to Doriath.

Just then, Bodvar groaned.

“Bodvar?” Elrond lifted the Skin-changer’s head and pushed a waterskin to his lips.

“Hairy-chest?” Bodvar opened his eyes. Elrond grimaced at how it sounded. He rather preferred the ‘bear-chest’ over the hairy one. Bodvar whispered. “You not friend?”

“I am your friend. Yes, Bodvar and I friends.” Elrond asked who, the word he did not know, so he looked about with his hands to his side. “Hurt you?”

“Flower-head hurt Bodvar, ya.”

Elrond shook his head. Couldn’t be. “You hurt Flower-head?”

Bodvar shook his head. “Flower-head Bodvar friend. Bodvar no hurt Flower-head.” Bodvar tried to get up, but he could not use his arms or legs. “Bodvar go home. Skuld hurt Bodvar home. Sif, Yrsa. Hror. Fa. Home need.” Bodvar struggled, trying his hardest to get up from where he lay.

“Skuld?” Elrond asked, but instead of saying another word, Bodvar struggled to get up.

Elrond shook his head as he pushed Bodvar down. “Bodvar hurt. You sleep.” He pointed to Bodvar’s arms and legs. “Better sun up.”

Bodvar shook his head hard. “Flower-head bad. Skuld bad.” Bodvar tried to move his hands, but the cuts were not healed and he could not lift them. He looked up at Elrond. There was fear there. The bear man looked down at his arms then at his legs. “No good?”

“Sleep. Sun up, good.” Elrond smiled, hoping Bodvar understood.

Durion and Neldor walked over with armload of dried bushes.

“What in orc is he saying?” Durion asked as Neldor stirred the fire. “You understand that?”

“Very little. He is afraid he may not be able to use his arms and legs.”

“Did he mention who did this to him?”

Elrond met Durion’s eyes. The Sindarin warrior’s face turned dark. “There must be a good explanation. The cuts are one thing, but leaving him like that. That is not Thranduil.”

“I am certain you are right.” Elrond pulled at his braid. There had to be a good explanation. 

They found Bodvar because Neldor heard the cries of a panicked bear as it was drowning in the icy water. When they found it, the bear had stopped moving. They had not known it was Bodvar until the bear’s body turned back into Bodvar as Baldor jumped into the water.

What disturbed Elrond was the fact that the bear was thrown into the water after his arms and legs were slashed. The cuts were shallow enough that the injury will heal, but if there was no intent to kill, why was Bodvar thrown into the water and left there to drown? It was unusually cruel. It couldn’t be Thranduil. Elrond had never known his friend to be cruel. Frigid at times, merciless, perhaps, when provoked, but never intentionally cruel.

Suddenly, Durion snatched his weapon, and Neldor threaded an arrow onto his bow. Elrond smothered the light of the campfire. Over the snowy ground, darkness reached over, filling the space in front of them.

A low whistle and a series of clicks came. They relaxed and Elrond snapped his fingers, bringing the fire back on. Baldor stepped into the light, someone leaning heavily on him. It wasn’t Thoron.

The Elf was someone Elrond met once or twice. Many of the Silmacils who were out in the field rarely came to Lindon.

“This is Rusco. One of us,” Baldor made the introductions as he brought Rusco to a seat near the fire. “Remember him, Elrond?“ Then he gestured toward Elrond. “Remember Lord Elrond? Lord Gilmagor’s second in command. That’s Durion, Beleg and Mablung’s nephew from Doriath. Neldor the hunter from Taurobel.” Once the introductions were done, Baldor continued. “We found him bleeding not too far from the cave opening. He was trying to enter the cave in his condition. Can you check his injury?” Baldor pulled away Rusco’s cape covering one leg. There was a broken Orc arrow protruding from the Elf’s thigh. Elrond noticed several slashes and the spattered black and red blood on his gray leather armor.

“I was ambushed.” Rusco said when Elrond looked up after examining his wounds. The warrior looked worn and haggard.

“What happened? Where’s Thoron?” Elrond asked. Something ominous touched Elrond’s finely tuned senses.

“Thoron is following Rusco’s lead. How is the injury?” Baldor asked.

“Not too bad. Once cleansed of the Orc poison, he should be well enough.” Elrond cut open the wound to remove the arrowhead.

“I told you I was fine.” Rusco gritted his teeth as Elrond sewed the wound and applied one of the poultices Thoron had left him. “I should be out there. They are all taken.”

“You stay put, Rusco. Take care of Lord Elrond for us. Once we ascertain what exactly is happening, Thoron and I will be back.”

“Just the two of you…there are too many Orcs, Baldor, and too many chambers to cover. You will need more hands.” Rusco switched to Quenya and added, “Don’t forget about Sadron.”

Baldor’s face hardened.

“I will go with you.” Durion who had taken a seat got up and hefted his weapon.

“And I,” Neldor the hunter got up as well.

Baldor hesitated. “That would be welcome, but…” Baldor looked at Elrond, then at Bodvar.

“I will be fine once my wound is healed. You heard him. It is not so bad. Give me some time and I will join you.”

“No. Stay here with them, Rusco. I will feel better. Hell, Thoron will feel better.”

Elrond wanted to go with them, but knew even without asking that Baldor would not allow it.

The new Silmacil turned to Baldor. “Remember, Baldor. Remind Thoron to be wary.”

Baldor’s face was uncharacteristically grim as he nodded before he disappeared into the dark with Durion and Neldor.

”What about Sadron?” Elrond remembered Sadron because he was one of the Silmacils who had never given up trying to find Astalder. He remembered Lord Gilmagor telling the Silmacil warrior to stop going to the mountain to search for Astalder.

“I think he may be working with the Orcs.”

“Impossible!”

“I thought so, too, if I didn’t see him with my own eyes and heard him command the Orcs...”

“What exactly happened?”

“I arrived here five days ago. I got to the designated location and received a command from Lord Commander. We spread out around the base of the mountain. There was supposed to be a cave somewhere, but we didn’t find one. We had been looking for it for the past four centuries. And the cave entrance that we didn’t find all these years, it appeared.” Rusco grimaced again as Elrond’s healing song took effect. He took a breath before he went on. “Sadron came by where I was stationed early afternoon today. He said they found the cave and Lord Gilmagor wanted us there. I should have known better. Why would Lord Gilmagor call all of us into one location?” Rusco shook his head. “I had been unwise. I saw Lord Gilmagor there, and I stepped into that contraption without thinking.”

“But, how do you know that Sadron…” Elrond felt all energy escape him. He could not believe Sadron betrayed them. The Half-elven did not know the Silmacil warrior well, but he seemed so earnest in his pursuit of Astalder’s whereabouts.

“Lord Gilmagor saved me by pushing me out before that thing closed on me. I rolled down a hill when I heard Sadron commanding the Orcs to shoot me. He said to either capture me alive or make sure I was dead. I dug myself in the snow to avoid the pursuit. There were too many Orcs and only one of me. I thought it best to stay hidden until more of us arrived. Observing was all I could do. Sadron had taken my pack and I had no medicine or food with me. I subsisted on water for the past five days.”

“I cannot believe it.” Elrond felt his chest close. It was difficult to breathe. The Silmacil warriors were the most loyal of the King’s soldiers.

“You think I could? I still cannot believe it myself.” Rusco shook his head. “Sadron, of all people.”

Just then, Bodvar growled as he turned over where he lay.

Rusco looked at Bodvar. “Who is the man?”

“He is a friend.” Elrond examined Bodvar’s wounds and was satisfied that they were healing nicely. Combined with Elrond’s healing spells and Bodvar’s ability to heal rapidly, the Skin-changer’s wounds were almost healed.

“Sun come up, you good, Bodvar.”

“What are you saying to him?”

“Look up.”

Rusco scowled obviously not understanding. It was understandable. It was a secret word between Thranduil and himself when things didn’t go their way, when bad things happened. When one of them is down, the other would say, ‘look up’. It was their way to remind each other to have hope, to look up and have faith that things will work out. Trust in Eru. And right now, Elrond wanted to tell that to Bodvar, and perhaps to himself. 

Rusco nodded. “But why are you here? Lord Gilmagor did not mention you joining us.”

“My companion and I were tracking a prisoner taken by the Orcs. Have you observed any prisoners?”

“There were several. Some hunters. A Sinda. And…” Rusco hesitated. “Well, I saw someone strange today.”

“Someone strange?”

“He wasn’t a prisoner. A strange lad. I don’t think I have seen his like.”

“An Elf?”

“Yes, a very tall one. Tall as you, or slightly taller, and young, no more than seven centuries or so.”

A dread took hold of Elrond’s heart.

“Did he…did he have a strange colored hair?”

“How did you know? I have never seen the color like that. A pale crimson.”

Elrond shot up.

“Elrond?”

“What was he doing?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“He came riding a white bear.”

“Are you sure it was not a black bear?”

“No. I would know if it was black. The bear was definitely white.”

“What happened to him?”

“He went around the side of the cave entrance. Ai, I should have told Thoron and Baldor about it. A company of Orcs came, and I got distracted. When I looked again, he had disappeared. Perhaps he hid?” Rusco shrugged. “Just before Thoron and Baldor found me, I thought I saw his red hair, but then I was relaying to Thoron what happened, and I suppose I was so exhausted, I forgot to tell them about the Elf.”

Elrond glanced at Bodvar. He was tossing and turning, maneuvering his arms this way and that.

“How long ago was it that you last saw him, the Elf with the crimson head?”

“Just now, before Thoron. About an hour or so ago?”

Elrond asked and committed to memory the location Rusco described. Then, he got up, picking up his sword. “Rusco, will you attend to Bodvar for me? You need not do anything except to watch him.”

“Where are you going?” Rusco looked worried when Elrond picked up his sword. “It is dangerous to be out here alone. Wait until my wound heals, then we could all go.”

“I am only going to take a moment to check something. I will return soon.” With that, Elrond hurried. He didn’t want to give Rusco a chance to think.

It was less than an hour later when Elrond heard a movement behind him as he hid behind a boulder directly across the entrance to the cave Rusco mentioned. There were several Orc-patrols stationed at the entrance.

With his hand on the hilt of his sword, Elrond turned slowly.

Rusco looked winded as he pulled his injured leg which had left a mark on the snow next to Elrond’s footprints.

“Why would you move your leg so soon?” Elrond whispered when Rusco crouched down next to him. “And how could you leave Bodvar?”

“I know it sounds incredible, but that man turned into a bear and just ran away after striking me.” Rusco pulled away his cape to show a large claw mark on his leather-bound chest.

“It’s all right, Rusco. He is a Skin-changer, a man who can turn into a bear.”

“Ah. So they do exist. I did not know what to do after the bear left. Then, I remembered that Thoron will have me for supper if he knew I let you go off alone. So, did you find what you were looking for?”

Elrond shook his head. “Where did you say that Elf with the crimson head went?”

“He disappeared among the crevices on the north wall of the cave. Here, follow me.”

“Are you well enough to move quickly?”

“Even with my bad leg, I will be faster than any Orc.”

Crouching low, they moved closer to the side of the cave. Hidden among the rocky crevices, there was a gap large enough for an Elf to pass. Elrond wondered how Thranduil even knew about this. And he hated the dark thoughts that started to take shape within him.

Inside the cave was a large chamber, bigger than Elrond thought. Several tunnels seemed to lead into several chambers. On the walls, iron torches threw dim lights. A group of Orcs patrolled the chamber.

Hidden behind a jutting wall, Elrond whispered to Rusco. “Is there a way to pass the guards?”

“There is, but are you sure you want to do this? We could just wait until Thoron and Baldor return.”

“If my companion passed through here, then I must find him.”

“I gave Thoron and Baldor this passage I found. They should be ahead of us. Perhaps we could catch up to them?”

“Please, lead the way.”

Rusco led Elrond along a narrow ledge built along the walls of the chamber. With the light of the torch not reaching the ledge, they were passing above the heads of the Orcs who seemed not to notice them as they noiselessly stepped over the ledge. Their progress was slow as Rusco could not yet run.

When they entered a chamber with ice walls and floors, Elrond stopped.

“Elrond?”

“I know this place. I have seen it.”

“You have been here before?”

“No.” Elrond dropped down onto the floor when he saw no one about. Something shiny flew past him as he did so.

“What was that?” Elrond looked around. Something was not right. His stomach tightened as fear clawed his inside.

“That’s probably just a bat. There are many in the caves around here.” Rusco jumped down next to him. “There is a chamber just ahead of us. Thoron and Baldor may be there. Perhaps even Thranduil.”

Elrond stopped walking. “What did you say?” Rusco had never met Thranduil, and Elrond was certain he had not mentioned Thranduil’s name. “How do you know Thranduil? I didn’t mention his name.”

“Everybody knows him, Elrond.” Rusco laughed. “Don’t forget you are talking to one of the Silmacils.”

Was it his nerves that made him think there was a slight hesitation before Rusco laughed? Elrond frowned when he saw that Rusco walked faster and more erect as if all pains were gone. Even for the Elves, that was an unprecedentedly swift recovery.

“You seem already healed.”

It should be a good thing, but it did not gladden his heart.

“How do you know this area so well?” Elrond hated this suspicion he was feeling.

As they reached the end of the chamber where an ice platform rose above the floor of the chamber, a bat flew over and landed on a large block of ice that looked strangely like an elaborate chair. Elrond stepped closer, but the creature did not fly away.

“This bat seems unafraid.” Elrond stepped closer for a look when the bat shimmered.

“Welcome to my place, Elrond, son of Earendil.”

In front of Elrond, a most beauteous creature he had ever seen stood, an Elf yet not an Elf. His hair was like a flame, redder than the blood and glowing like the sparks of bonfire in the wind. A breath caught in his throat and Elrond stood lost for words as dark fear gripped him. Although it was their first real meeting, no one needed to tell him who the person in front of him was.


	17. The Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond is forced to face Thranduil in a duel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was delayed in posting because I wanted to add in this drawing by one of my readers. Please enjoy the wonderful artwork by featheredmoonwings which is also posted on her art site at Tumblr @the-red-butterflies. Big thank you to the artist. :)

**MAIRON** smiled. There was always some doubt, but things have worked out so much better than he had hoped.

“Thranduil and I have been waiting for you.”

“What have you done to Thranduil?” Elrond took out his sword. The mix-breed tried to sound normal, but Mairon noticed Elrond’s face was rigid and devoid of blood.

“I have done nothing to him. He has only answered my command just as Rusco did.” Mairon stretched out his hand. “Rusco, come and kneel before me.”

Like a good wolf, the former Silmacil moved over to Mairon’s side and kneeled, his head bent. Thankfully, there was no resistance nor the hesitance that he had shown when commanded to kill that Skin-changer.

Mairon had tightened Rusco’s gold collar, the one he wore under his cape, cutting off his breath, letting the Silmacil warrior claw for breath.

_How dare he to refuse to execute my command?_

That hesitation had allowed that damnable bear to escape. He had used pain effectively to punish, but it seemed pain had less effect on Rusco as time went on. In the use of his tongue, Rusco was obedient, but when it came to the use of his sword, the Silmacil still hesitated to follow orders. He might have to recalibrate Rusco’s gold collar.

“You do see now, how obedient my slave is?” Mairon petted Rusco’s head.

The look of outrage on Elrond was priceless. It eased his anger at the failed attempt to subjugate that bear chief. Men were easy to influence, but Mairon had not expected the fire to affect the effectiveness of his collar.

It didn’t matter, though. Skuld had been eager to seize power. And the promise of wealth and the opportunity to take Bjorn’s granddaughter for his own were all it took to convince Skuld to betray his own chief and to attack the Black Bears. There had been no need for Mairon to expend any dragon blood or a gold collar. 

“What have you done to Rusco? He is a Silmacil. He couldn’t…what have you done to him?”

“Why would you think that I needed to do anything to make Rusco and Thranduil work for me?”

“Thranduil?” Elrond’s face crumpled. It was so easy to read this mix-breed. “You didn’t know? Both Rusco and Thranduil belong to me.”

Elrond shook his head, slowly at first, then firmly. “I don’t believe you. You are a liar!”

“Is Rusco not at my feet? What would you say if I can make Thranduil stab you in the heart? Will you believe me then?

“He will never hurt me.”

“Ah, you naïve, trusting fool. You may trust him, but does he trust you? Has he allowed you the glimpse of his heart and soul? Words are easy to say, but the acts are something else. Oh, I am sure you have. You are like the sky; one only needs to look up to know its condition. But Thranduil, he is earth. You never know exactly what you are stepping on, even when you think you do.”

“I know him better than you.” Elrond’s strained words came through his clenched teeth.

Seeing the trace of pain reflected in Elrond’s eyes, Mairon knew he had hit the right spot. His long experience with both the greater and lesser beings had taught him the fragility of trust, that it takes forever to build, but only a moment to destroy.

“Do you now? Then, I suppose he told you that he drank Uluch’s blood?”

Elrond’s face crumpled, his eyes wide, the brows furrowed.

“Ah, he did not tell you, did he?”

Mairon was guessing, but he was almost certain that Thranduil had not shared much of himself with Elrond. The Sinda knew betrayal. And for the betrayed, trust was too bitter, too painful because to be betrayed again would hurt too much. It was better to keep things in and never share what was in the heart. 

“Back in that Dwarven ruin, he drank the dragon’s blood. She controls him, and I control her. You know what that means, don’t you, Elrond? I wonder what else he has not told you?”

“You are lying. I will not listen to any of your lies, you monster.”

“Believe what you will, then, boy. You could ask Thranduil yourself. But I suppose it is a hard thing for someone like you who grew to love your abductors, the killers of your mother and her people.”

“Do not talk about them. You know nothing of them.”

“Oh, I must disagree, you naïve boy. I know Maedhros very well, in fact. You have known him about what? Just over a decade? I have known him personally for near three decades. While he was at Angband, we had been marvelous friends, he and I. I know everything about him, from the frizzy tips of his auburn hair to his very toes.” Mairon smiled darkly. “Stubborn, he was. But in the end, he delivered.”

Mairon almost laughed out loud at the look on Elrond of confusion and doubt warring with his desire to believe and trust. The fool.

“I will not listen to your lies.”

“As you wish. It would be a tragedy for you to learn that your so-called adopted father delivered the twins, your uncles, the last direct heirs to Thingol Greycloak, to our hands.”

“Lies!”

“Ah, yes. Your king’s library has it that Celegorm’s warriors left your uncles in the Orc-infested forest to die and that Maedhros tried to find them. I wonder who told the writer that? One of the Feanorians? Not any Sindar. I doubt any surviving Sindar would have told him that. Have you never wondered why we did not try to attack them when Maedhros and his brothers attacked Doriath? You learned strategy under Gilmagor so you should know Feanorians were at their weakest just after their attack at Menegroth. Yet, we did not do anything when it was a chance for us to destroy them. You never wondered why? Or questioned why Celegorm’s warriors, the bloodthirsty killers who murdered women and children, abandoned the king’s heirs in a forest instead of killing them? You think it was just a sudden emergence of mercy or twisted cruelty? Have you ever given thought to how a whole army of skilled warriors could not find two young children who were abandoned just a moment ago in the woods?”

“Maedhros is not like that!” Elrond shook his head, his eyes burning like two logs on a fire. “He didn’t know about it. He didn’t. And he tried to find them.”

“Of course, of course. He was only the lord of the most efficient and strongest Elven army on Middle-earth. How could he have possibly known that some of the warriors dragged away the princes, the ones he could have exchanged for the jewel he wanted so badly. Makes a lot of sense, indeed.”

“You slanderous, lying fiend!” With an earsplitting battle cry, Elrond struck. With unthinkable speed, Rusco parried. The swords trembled, pushing against each other.

Mairon swallowed a sigh of relief, glad that the first thing he had instilled into Rusco’s mind was his safety. The Silmacil warrior was to guard him and obey him above all else. Mairon did not fear most swords, but many Noldorin swords and some of the Dwarven-made swords cast with Elven spells were dangerous to his physical form. And Mairon had forgotten Elrond’s strength of will and had allowed the mixed blood to stand too close to him.

“Rusco, out of my way!” Elrond hissed as he struggled against the strength of the Silmacil warrior. Their swords screamed as they fought for dominance over each other, then with a final thrust, they jumped back.

Rusco landed back in front of Mairon.

“You can leave me now, Rusco.”

Elrond had been too close and his movement too sudden, but he won’t be surprised again.

“Go! Take care of those two Silmacils. No mistake this time.” Mairon clenched his hand into a fist to tighten the gold collar as a reminder.

Rusco grabbed his collar, teeth clenched. When Mairon let go, he bowed, flew up onto a ridge to one side of the chamber and disappeared.

“What did you do to him? Is that how you control him, with the collar?”

“Oh, you mean that gold accessory? Just a mark to let others see the special favor I have bestowed on them. I do not want my Orcs treating them like a common soldier. They are my prized servants, after all.”

Elrond’s eyes slanted upward, his eyes flaming as he leveled his sword.

“Was it something I said?” Mairon let his lips curl up, careful to keep enough distance away from the Half-elven.

“I will not hear your slander. No amount of lies you spew, I will heed. I know Thranduil. I know his heart.”

“Yes, you trust blindly like a child who believes everything he is told. No wonder Thranduil does not trust you. Perhaps you do not know Thranduil as well as you think, son of Earendil. But come. You will ask him yourself.”

**ELROND** blinked and the room changed, or the walls swung. He could not tell what exactly happened, but he was in a different chamber. The ice wall that stood before him had disappeared, or that was how it seemed to Elrond. That vile servant of Morgoth stepped back into the wall of fogs and now everything was covered in the mist.

The Half-elven looked about him. The thick fog made it impossible to gauge the size of the space, and there was an odd silence about the chamber.

And where did Rusco go? Elrond knew Sauron meant Thoron and Baldor when he told Rusco to take care of the ‘two Silmacils.’ The Half-elven took a quick breath. He won’t think about them. Thoron and Baldor were formidable warriors. They were more experienced than Elrond and Thranduil combined. He will trust that they will take care of themselves.

Now that he thought of it, even before they entered the cave, he should have caught the lie. Rusco said he was here five days ago but Sadron came early afternoon today, that he had taken his pack so that he had no medicine or food for five days. The inconsistency should have warned him.

 _I should have known,_ Elrond berated himself, but he thought Rusco misspoke, that Sadron took his pack earlier. Now that he thought about it, that did not make sense either. Elrond realized that he must have filled in the inconsistencies and didn’t pay attention because it was Rusco, one of the Silmacils, who said it. Likewise, he had dismissed the unease he felt the moment he was examining Rusco’s wound because he had assumed it was a concern for Thoron.

This was the exact thing Lord Gilmagor had warned him about when they were talking about weaknesses.

Elrond inhaled a long breath and allowed his senses to feel all around. Lord Gilmagor’s words rushed into his mind.

_You have senses that are sharper and clearer than most, but you do not use them out of fear that you will overstep other’s boundary. Don’t be afraid to use your gift, Elrond. It was given to you for a reason. Do not fear your gift. What is important is that you use it responsibly._

Elrond let his senses reach out through the fog.

He would not listen to this deceiver, this Maia who weaves lies like webs of a spider, this servant of Melkor.

Using his senses, Elrond found that he was in a chamber where the wall behind him was made of stone covered in ice. And somewhere in front of him, there was an ice block. Despite the chill, there was warm air radiating from the area in front of him. This room was warmer, not as cold as the chambers he had passed.

Snap! Snap!

A loud sound of a snapping of fingers made Elrond look up. A sudden wind rose and the fog receded just enough to reveal two tall columns, one of the rocks and the other of ice.

On the tallest column, a pile of rocks three stories high, Sauron sat on a throne of fire which cast a reddish light onto the chamber. The second column had a rock base but was thickly covered in solid ice. On top of the ice base, two large ice blocks sat. And behind the column with the ice blocks was a pool of lava. Next to it were a stone table and various tools a blacksmith would have. It looked to be a forge of sorts.

It was strange to see a pool of lava so close to a room full of ice.

“Let us begin, shall we?” The treacherous Maia smiled, his eyes gleaming.

“What are you planning now, Deceiver?”

“Oh, you will see it soon enough.”

Sauron raised his hands as he sang a song in words that Elrond could not understand. The ground trembled as a deep groove formed at the lip of the lava pool, circled the base of the ice column, then formed a deep depression all around where Elrond stood, carving a fifteen feet wide circle around Elrond and one small ice lump. As the channel formed, the lava from the pool flowed into it.

Elrond swallowed. His chest tightened as if a boulder pressed down on it. It looked exactly like the circular stage of stone he saw in his dream.

 _Please, Elbereth. Please_ , Elrond prayed. _Don’t let it be true._ Elrond looked about him, terrified he will glimpse the pale crimson head.

“Thranduil Oropherion! He is all yours.” Sauron called out. Out of the fog, a figure jumped down onto the stone island, furthest from where Elrond stood. He landed his one knee on the ground. His head bent. The pale crimson of his hair looked deep red under Sauron’s firelight.

Elrond felt as if they were underwater, in the lake under the King’s Tower. Every movement seemed as if it slowed, taking hundreds of years. He could hardly breathe as if all air was sucked out of his lungs.

Thranduil got up, his every motion painfully slow. He wore the same gray leather armor Elrond saw him last, except around his neck, there was that golden collar he had seen in his dream.

Elrond’s eyes misted. The pain in his heart made each breath difficult. Elrond tightened his hold on his sword. He wanted to ask why but his lips would not move. Elrond shook his head. Slowly at first, then resolutely.

“No,” he managed to say. “I won’t believe it. I won’t. I will not fight you.” Elrond threw his blade. It flew over the expanse of the stage and fell into the lava.

Elrond looked at Thranduil. The Sinda’s face was a stone, cold, unchanging, and unreadable.

“I will not fight you. If you have truly lied to me all these years, then kill me and be done with it. But I won’t believe it. I know you, Thranduil. This is not you. Do not let that servant of Morgoth deceive you, Thranduil. You can fight this.”

Clap, clap, clap.

At the sound of the thunderous clapping, Elrond looked up. Sauron leaned against his throne, clapping his hands.

“Very noble of you, Elrond, son of Earendil. So trusting and firm. I feared you would behave like this which is why I prepared this.” Sauron pointed to the ice column with the ice blocks on top.

The lava had pooled below the ice column, melting the thick ice, revealing the stone beneath. The thick ice that had covered the stone was melting and as it melted, it became transparent. Elrond could see that the stone core of the column thinned as it went up. The further the column went, there was less stone and more ice so that the very top, which held the giant ice blocks, consisted only of ice.

Sauron whistled a tune, and another thin stream of lava added to the pool of lava. As the stone base heated, more ice began to melt. What was a slow drip down the stone base became a thin stream, falling onto the hot, bubbling lava underneath.

Elrond was about to question when the front side of the large ice cubes which faced Elrond shimmered, turning into bars. And through the ice bars, chained inside the blocks of ice were two familiar faces.

“Lord Gilmagor! Commander Aron!” Elrond called out, unable to keep his shock at seeing them imprisoned.

He had expected Aron to be captured, but Lord Gilmagor? Elornd had hoped whatever Rusco had said to him about capturing the Silmacils was a lie.

“Elrond, my young friend. The longer you stand around and not fight, more ice will melt. But for each strike you land on Thranduil, I will lessen the lava accumulating under the column. Like this.” Sauron waved his hand and a thin stream of lava moved back into the pool next to the forge. “You need not trust me. You can check it each time you land a strike.”

Thranduil turned and glared at Sauron who shrugged. “I never said there will be no time limits. I am a busy Maia. And everybody needs incentive. Truth be told, I don’t have all day to sit and watch fights. Now, let’s begin, shall we?” Sauron rubbed his hands together, his face full of smiles.

“Don’t…let Sauron manipulate you. Don’t listen to him, Elrond. Thranduil.” Lord Gilmagor’s voice was shaky as he called out. “You two should not fight.”

“Thranduil, stop this,” Aron called out. “You can’t fight Elrond. Not because of us. Lord Gilmagor and I rather die than see you two fight each other.”

Elrond looked up at Gilmagor then Aron.

“Do you not see what he is doing? He is trying to divide us,” Elrond said as he took a step closer to Thranduil.

But the Sinda drew his sword. It was an unfamiliar sword, not the one Thranduil used at Lindon. It was black in color and the blade hummed when it cleared its sheath. By the look and sound of it, Elrond could tell it was no ordinary sword.

“You will fight me when I don’t even have a weapon? Come, Thranduil. This is not you.”

Wordlessly, Thranduil walked over to a tall clump of ice near the edge of the stage and struck. It cut through the thick clump of ice as if the blade cut through the water, revealing two identical swords buried in it. Unlike Thranduil’s black sword, they glowed like beams of light. Thranduil threw one of the blades to Elrond. The Half-elven caught it. Seeing it close, he realized he had seen it before in his dream, but also in the hands of Lord Gilmagor.

Elrond looked up at Lord Gilmagor. The elder Elf’s eyes misted.

“Flit! Flit! Time flits!” Sauron waved his hand.

A stream of lava flowed back into the bottom of the ice column.

“My patience is running thinner than the sheets of metal right now.” Sauron stomped and the lava pooling below the ice column flared and bubbled. The stream of water from the melting ice became heavier, like a shower after snow. The lava hissed as water fell on it, creating a coil of steam.

Thranduil moved back and readied his sword. When Elrond picked up his sword and stood facing him, Thranduil struck. Elrond parried. They exchanged several cuts and parries, the swords blurring in front of them at the speed. They barely moved, other than their arms, each conserving their movements.

As Thranduil’s sword parried Elrond’s, the Half-elven stepped forward for a quick lunge cut to Thranduil’s wrist. Elrond’s sword slashed the leather vambrace on Thranduil’s forearm, a split second before Thranduil retracted his arm. The vambrace broke and fell to the floor.

“One point to the Half-Elf!” Sauron clapped. He raised his hand, drawing a stream of lava away from the ice column. The melting slowed.

“Thranduil, you better do a better job, or you will end up losing. That would be a pity, would it not?” Sauron leaned down as if it was for Thranduil’s ears only. “You ought to know that if you lose, everyone loses.”

Thranduil’s face did not change, but the air about him changed. A look of determination entered his eyes that chilled Elrond. He knew that look, the kind of look his friend had when he became ruthless. Elrond had seen it when Thranduil returned every cadet's pranks, when Gilmagor demanded the seemingly impossible tasks to be done, and when they faced enemies like Orcs.

“What does he mean by that?” Elrond asked, but Thranduil did not reply, instead, he changed his stance.

It was an unfamiliar stance. Elrond knew it somehow related to the Sindarin technique, something he had seen during the sword competitions held at the Midsummer Festivities.

But that technique was used with short swords, mostly using a pair of blades. The black sword Thranduil held was too long to be used for such a technique.

“What are you doing?” Elrond asked, but Thranduil stepped closer, making it difficult for Elrond to swing his sword. Elrond stepped back, breaking his stance at the unexpected advance.

Instead of the hilt, Thranduil grabbed the blade part of the sword, he flipped his sword and whacked Elrond with the pommel. The unexpected strike on the chest piece of his plate armor forced Elrond to retreat. Elrond jumped back, but realized he was at the edge of the stage when he felt the heat of the lava behind his heel.

The pommel flew at him again. Elrond parried the strike, but Thranduil pulled the sword closer, flipping to the tip of the blade and struck Elrond’s chest, using the blade tip like a spear.

Elrond twisted away before the blade almost impaled him on the second thrust. He blocked the third thrust, then jumped up, flipping in the air above Thranduil to land on the middle of the circular stage. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Elrond turned to face Thranduil, pawing at his plate armor. There was a hole there.

“Thranduil, stop this now or there will be blood on your hands,” Aron shouted through the ice bars. “Please, do not do this. Not for me. And certainly not for that evil creature.”

“Point for the Sinda of Doriath,” Sauron shouted with glee. “I should warn you, Elrond. Do not rely on that mithril mail you wear under your plate armor. The sword in Thranduil’s hand is made from Eol’s meteorite. It will cut through metal just as easily as it does ice and stone. Just thought you should know.” Sauron laughed out loud. “But, do not worry. The sword in your hands, I found, is as deadly as the black blade I have given to Thranduil. You are not at any disadvantage, although I can’t say that of those two.” Sauron pointed to the column next to him.

Elrond looked up. The ice column was melting. The melted water that used to drip now looked like a small, halting waterfall. The ice on top of the column that held up two ice blocks thinned noticeably, water trickling down the stone column as the lava hissed like a venomous snake.

The water fell, hissed, and turned into a pale mist. It crept up the dark stone column like a snake.

Elrond swallowed the dread that coiled inside his stomach. Doubt nagged at the edges, melting away the certainly he had felt about Thranduil. He wanted to believe. But like the ice that slowly melted away under the heat of the lava, Elrond found the certainty of his beliefs slipping through his hands.

“Thranduil, listen. Listen to me. He is just trying to divide us. If we work together, we can defeat him. We can stop him. You and I, we are brothers. We are warrior companions. Thranduil. Please.”

Thranduil did not slack in his attack, forcing Elrond to defend, parry, block. Jump back, slash right, then left. Elrond retreated where he could but knew it could not last forever. He was already getting tired while Thranduil seemed unaffected. But then, Elrond could never tell with Thranduil. It was so hard to read him.

“Come, come, Elves. Let’s finish this, shall we?.” Sauron snapped and the lava around the ice column flared again.

Most of the ice on the stone column melted, revealing a triangular-shaped stone on top. The top portion where the ice blocks sat was solid ice, but now it thinned into a sheet no thicker than couple feet in width. The walls of the blocks were cracking. And through the walls, Elrond could see that both Gilmagor and Aron wore a chain that held their feet together with a large weight holding them down. Once the ice melted away, they would fall. Even if they survived the fall, could they survive the lava?

“You have ten minutes or so, Thranduil Oropherion!” Sauron got up from his throne. “Even I cannot stop time.” The dark Maia pointed to the cracks forming on the ice cubes. “I suggest you finish it or there will be nothing left to hold anyone accountable.”

Thranduil slashed away Elrond’s sword, then pulled back.

Breathing hard, Elrond stepped back, grateful for the break. They were evenly matched. Elrond could not land any further strike on Thranduil, and he managed to avoid taking any further strike from the Sinda.

Thranduil walked over to the remaining white sword. The blade was still stuck in the ground. The Sinda pulled out the sword, and held out two full length swords, one black and one white.

Elrond knew Gilmagor was teaching his double wielding skills to Thranduil, but his friend never talked about the lessons, and Elrond had not asked. It had been two centuries, but Elrond had never seen Thranduil wield two swords before.

When Thranduil laid the swords on their sides, one on top of the other, and took a position, Lord Gilmagor groaned.

“No, Thranduil. That is not meant to be used to kill, not one of our own. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”

Thranduil did not glance back. He seemed to utterly ignore both Aron and Lord Gilmagor as if they did not exist.

“Why…” Elrond could not speak, he was too busy blocking. Thranduil moved the two swords in unison, sometimes twisting the two blades, other times sending a powerful swing that made Elrond stumble. The movement was faster, steadier and more deadly. If Elrond doubted Thranduil’s intention to kill him, he could no longer doubt it. Sinda did not bother with landing any cuts; he aimed directly at Elrond’s heart.

Thranduil moved his swords, one in front, the other pulled back.

Gilmagor groaned. “No!” The elder Elf raised himself up, forcing Elrond to glance up. “Elrond, you can’t block that. He means to kill you. Use the King’s Gambit.”

“What?” Elrond did not want to believe it. But this was Gilmagor.

King’s Gambit, the most deadly move, taught only to the king and his heirs, was a move invented by Gilmagor to be used as a last resort to eliminate an unavoidable threat. It required a lot of inner power, would endanger anyone near him, even allies, but it would also eliminate a great number of enemies in one sweep.

Elrond looked around. The blast would affect Gilmagor and Aron, and Sauron. Gilmagor and Aron's ice blocks would be thrown over the lava. If their ice prisons held, there maybe a chance for them. As for Sauron, his tower of stone would fall. It most likely would not kill Sauron but the blast would be powerful enough to temporarily incapacitate him, giving Elrond enough time to escape. But, Thranduil. He would be in the direct line of the blast. There would be no chance of his friend surviving it. Thranduil was too close.

Elrond shook his head.

“That is an order, Elrond,” Gilmagor shouted. “It is the wish of your king. You must survive. It is your duty.”

Elrond sent out the feelers, reaching out to Thranduil. He knew Thranduil would feel them and repel them. He was the only Sinda Elrond knew besides the elders who could repel his feelers. Like fingers of mist, they reached out. Elrond needed to know.

All sound stopped. They were under the dark waters of the lake again. Elrond’s breath roughened as he turned to Aron. The Sindarin commander bowed his head as if in defeat. Gilmagor’s shouts muffled.

Thranduil moved.

Elrond breathed in and gathered his light, the move required to generate King’s Gambit. What would only take a second stretched out as if everyone was moving slowly, as if all of them were underwater.

Elrond’s feelers swept Thranduil. His friend did not repel them. Instead, Elrond felt his friend reaching out, allowing Elrond’s senses to reach into his mind.

_Look up, Elrond._

Elrond blinked, letting a tear escape as Thranduil’s words rang in his mind.

Thranduil leaped, his sword, shining white like a beam of moonlight, aimed directly at his heart.

Look up? Have hope? Was Thranduil asking him to trust, to have faith?


	18. Trust and Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil faces Sauron

**Forochel. April 7, SA 543**

**THRANDUIL** prayed. To his mother. To Elbereth. To Manwe. To Eru. Anyone who would listen.

_Please, let Elrond have faith in me. Trust me. Even if for this one time. Please._

To ask for trust, for faith, when you know you have not earned it seemed reprehensible to say the least. But he could not think about that now. No matter which path he took, all of them required trust. He needed to trust in Elrond’s faith in him. His absolute trust. Because to everyone else’s eyes, everything he planned to do would make him look guilty.

Once Sauron left him alone, Thranduil had carefully examined the black sword. It was superbly constructed with unmatched skill. He did not find anything to fault, but Sauron gave this to him. And Thranduil did not trust anything the evil Maia gave, neither his words nor the so called ‘gift’.

He could not move out of the small space Sauron had placed him, on top of one of the stone towers. An invisible wall surrounded him. To calm his nerves, Thranduil went over the words of the bargain.

He had added only two pitfalls, one to benefit him and the other to benefit Sauron. As Gilmagor said, too much roses make suspicious person to doubt and too little thorns will not be enough protection. The balance was crucial, especially because all the advantage belonged to the enemy. There was no guarantee he would accept Thranduil’s carefully chosen words unless there were roses enough to make Sauron feel he was in control. Otherwise, there was no reason for him to accept. The fact that Sauron underestimated him was the only advantage Thranduil had, and he planned to exploit it as much as he could. 

Thranduil did not doubt Sauron allowed him to word the bargain because the Maia believed he would emerge the victor no matter the outcome.

Perhaps Sauron believed Thranduil would not win against Elrond. When Sauron was at Lindon, Elrond’s knowledge of Noldorin technique had been far superior to his, and if they were to duel then, Thranduil knew there would have been only a slight chance, if any at all, against Elrond and his sword.

But that was four centuries ago.

Elrond excelled in many subjects from history to healing. While Thranduil felt he was good only as a warrior, Elrond did practically everything better than most people. He had a vast knowledge of lore and was an excellent orator and linguist. He spoke all different dialects and knew all known languages. He was loved by healers to lore masters to councilors. But Elrond did not love swords beyond the artistry of its make. He kept his skills polished. He was one of the better swordsmen in Lindon, but Elrond had no enthusiasm for the art as he had in other subjects.

Unlike Elrond, Thranduil spent all his free time honing his skills and practicing all known techniques. He felt it was the only thing he was good at, only thing he felt he excelled above others. And really, if you were to be good at it, anything less than the best was not enough.

Perhaps that was why when Gilmagor offered to teach him his double-wielding technique, Thranduil had gratefully accepted. They never spoke about it; they both understood that the matter was between them although Thranduil knew Elrond knew. His friend never asked, so he never found the need to discuss it. And this unspoken agreement suited him. His father had taught him never to show all his claws. And honestly, it was a struggle to balance his desire to show off his new skills and the desire to keep it to himself. But over the years he found a wicked delight in routing those Noldorin warriors who wanted to ‘teach him a lesson,’ even if those fights were privately held. The satisfaction of seeing the surprise in their eyes as they realized they could not beat him will never cease to amuse him.

Thranduil weighed the sword in his hand. He was certain he could win, but the trick was not in winning; it was in foiling whatever evil plan that damnable Maia had in mind.

A strike to the chest, just enough to meet the bargain, would require precise control. Sauron would know that if he were to command Thranduil to kill, he would fight the command. The hesitation would be enough for Elrond to avoid the strike or make the counterstrike. That was one possibility to ensure Thranduil lost, but the Sinda was certain that Sauron did not want that.

In order to make Elrond win, Sauron had to bet on Elrond willing to kill Thranduil. Sauron would know the likelihood of that happening was slim. Even if Elrond did, the outcome would be no different than if the Maia killed them himself. No. From what he knew of Sauron, the Deceiver was much more subtle than that. Sauron’s object in seeing them duel was not in killing them. It was about control, a perverse pleasure in seeing them suffer. And perhaps doing further harm to all his Elven kin.

Most likely, Sauron would wait for the moment Thranduil struck Elrond. It would only take one push at the right moment to plunge the sword deeper. It would be so easy for the Maia when he had the control of Thranduil’s body. No matter what Thranduil willed, the momentum will plunge the sword deeper. Then, Sauron would get what he wanted. Elrond dead, Sauron would release Gilmagor and Aron, not to keep his word, but so that they could relay what had happened. Thranduil would be labeled a traitor and a killer. And that would affect his father and his people. The impact of that will be far reaching. Even if the Noldor did not execute him for Elrond’s death, Thranduil knew he would not be able to live with it. He might win the bargain, but Sauron would be the victor. That cannot happen. Thranduil swore he would not let that happen.

Inhaling a long breath, Thranduil stilled the furious beat of his heart. He needed to focus. He needed every ounce of discipline, strength and skill he possessed, every claw that he had hidden.

But how did Sauron obtain control of him? He hated to admit it, but knew it had something to do with the dragon blood, perhaps with the gold collar that Bodvar gave him. Thranduil tried to remove it, but he could not do it. Something prevented him from ripping the thing off his neck. He guessed that the gold accessory somehow amplified the effect of the dragon blood.

He shuddered remembering the command that startled and terrified him because it was the voice that called to him for the past few months. The fact that he could not disobey, that his body moved despite his will to stop it, horrified him.

When Sauron called him onto the stage, the first thing Thranduil did was to test his muscles as he stepped into that circular stage lit crimson with the Dark Maia’s fires. He could use every part of his body except his tongue. His tongue was numb as if he held a large pebble in his mouth. Thranduil understood that Sauron was reminding him who really was in control. 

Facing Elrond, Thranduil waited for the Half-elven to scan him with his senses. He dared not open himself or to reach out to Elrond for fear that Sauron would take advantage of his open mind. Even now, he could feel Sauron’s presence, like fiery fingers, testing the lock, groping for the weakness in his mind. So, Thranduil waited for Elrond to spread his senses to reach out to him. Their bond was strong, and Elrond would be able to read him without Thranduil opening too much of himself.

But Elrond did not send out the feelers. And the doubt ever clouded Thranduil. He trusted Elrond’s strength of will and his constancy, but Elrond did not always trust him, not that he could fault his friend. Elrond was always the one lecturing about Thranduil not listening to him, not thinking clearly.

Thranduil shivered. Perhaps Elrond was right. Perhaps he was overthinking everything. He tended to be reckless at times. Was he placing everyone in jeopardy by what he planned? Thranduil took in a quick breath. He cannot doubt himself. He was on intractable ground. What did Lord Gilmagor say? When in enemy territory, on intractable ground, you keep moving. He had assessed his enemy, himself, and the many different path ahead. Danger was everywhere. There was no going back or second guessing himself. Only forward.

Thranduil ran forward.

He had marked the spot on Elrond’s chest plate. By using the half-swording technique before picking up the second sword, he had marked the exact spot on Elrond’s chest while also testing Sauron’s control. If the Necromancer forced him to put more force in the thrust, his hand nearest to the tip of the blade prevented any deeper penetration. If Sauron was an expert on swordsmanship, he would know that half-swording was used for accuracy and to strengthen the thrust when fighting those in a plate armor, but he would also notice Thranduil’s hand on the tip of the blade. He was taking a risk but hoped Gilmagor would see the change in his technique and warn Elrond. That would appease Sauron, but there was also the danger of making Elrond doubt him further. But it was a risk he had to take. The Noldorin plate armors were decorated with artful designs such that when combined with speed, it made it difficult for enemies to strike with accuracy certain vulnerable spots. Marking it made certain Thranduil would not miss. And he would not have a second chance. Neither Sauron nor Elrond would allow it.

As Thranduil expected, Gilmagor noticed the move right away. Thranduil heard him warning Elrond. Gilmagor alone would have understood what he meant to do when he punctured Elrond’s plate armor, especially when he followed it through with the double-wielding move. Even if the Lord Commander had given him the benefit of the doubt, Thranduil following the puncturing of the armor with this move would have told the elder Elf that he was serious about inflicting a deadly cut. The only defense to the move was to retreat, but Elrond was standing near the edge. He could not retreat.

When he felt the feelers from Elrond reach out, Thranduil moved. This had to be timed perfectly or everything was lost. And everything, absolutely everything, depended on their trust of each other.

_Look up, Elrond._

He dared not say anymore lest Sauron broke into his mind or hear the words exchanged. He needed the time to complete the move before Sauron had a chance to intervene. Thranduil’s left arm moved to block Elrond’s sword, and his right cut one, quick sweep.

 _Collar._ Thranduil hoped Elrond would understand what he was asking him to do.

Elrond’s sword blocked the blacksword on Thranduil’s left. Just as Thranduil’s sword struck, a single horizontal cut across Elrond’s chest, Elrond looked directly into Thranduil’s eyes.

 _I trust you._ Elrond’s thought flashed past Thranduil’s mind, just a twinkle of a starlight, but Thranduil heard it clearly.

Elrond fell backward; Thranduil pulled his friend’s falling body into his arms as Elrond wrenched the gold collar off Thranduil’s neck.

It was as if the helmet that blocked his vision and stifled him was lifted off his face and he breathed pure, fresh air.

“Elrond?” His voice sounded scratched to his ears, and fear clawed him.

Elrond smiled. “I’m ok,” he said as he straightened, rubbing the chest piece of his armor which was cut clean through from the hole on his armor to the side. When he saw blood, Thranduil pulled apart the armor. A shallow red line on dark-haired chest. He released a breath that he had been holding.

“I can’t say the same for them,” Sauron’s voice boomed from above. The part of the ice holding up the blocks of ice had weakened considerably and the blocks holding the two prisoners were tilting.

Thranduil turned to Elrond. No words were needed. The ice column was too tall for them to reach without the use of alapente.

Gathering their inner power, Thranduil jumped, followed by Elrond, two streams of white light. Like synchronized birds, they flew, landed on the collapsing ice blocks. The moment it took to blink, Thranduil’s sword cut through the chains. Elrond was already in front of him with Gilmagor in his arms.

Thranduil jumped off, throwing one sword to Aron. His feet almost touched the ground with Aron next to him when he felt the danger. He shoved Aron away from him just in time as a force pulled him back into the round stage.

“Thranduil!” Elrond and Aron called out, but the lava stream that surrounded the stage flared up into eight feet columns of fire, blocking the sight of the other three from Thranduil. The fire crackled and burned, the din blocking out the voices of Elrond and Aron calling his name.

Sauron jumped down from the height of his throne and stepped lightly onto the round stage opposite Thranduil.

“I have underestimated you, Thranduil Oropherion. When did you change the sword? And that horizontal cut instead of the stab. Excellently done.” Sauron clapped.

“You had the control of my body. Even if you allowed the freedom of movement, I didn’t know when you would force my hand. I wasn’t going to take any chance of you interfering.”

“Yes. Had you stabbed, it would have only taken a simple command for me to have you push that blade deeper. Pity. It would have made everything so much more fun.”

“Keep your word, Maia. Or have you turned base.”

“No need for insults, boy. Do you see me stopping them? I am letting the other three to live and leave here. They are free to leave. You, however, will stay. Undeserving you are, but out of generosity, I will offer it again. Serve me. I will make you stronger and more powerful than any Noldor.”

Thranduil scoffed aloud. “Time for bargaining is over. I kept my side of the bargain, and Elrond is alive. Now, let me leave.”

Sauron pulled up the corner of his lips. The look in the Deceiver’s eyes chilled Thranduil.

“You received what I promised, the three of them are allowed to leave without interference from me and my Orcs, alive and well. But you," Sauron tilted his head. "I promised to allow to leave and return home, but I don’t remember promising to let you leave here alive.” The dark Maia stepped closer. “But then, you knew that, did you not? You knew I would reject your proposal unless there was a benefit to me. You placed those two obvious holes to bait me. I see that now. But why risk your life for others? Did you really think I would not notice? The others, they don’t understand, but you do. You understand me. The fact that you survived to hold Uluch’s blood in you says it all. There is more potential in you than I had once thought. Join me, Thranduil Oropherion. Serve me and I will share with you the vision of Melkor. Together, we can conquer this world. I may even give you a kingdom of your own.”

“Conquer the world with Orcs? Even Morgoth failed to do that.” Thranduil scoffed as he moved closer.

“Only to the Valar was my master defeated. There is no Valar here now. They don’t care about the Middle-earth. And I have the Silmacils.”

“Silmacils? Why would they follow you?” Thranduil gripped the hilts of the sword in his hand.

“I have my ways.” Sauron stepped closer, only an arm’s distance away. “Why be a dog to the Noldor, the ones who have destroyed your home? Why be the second best when I could make you greater, raise you above those lesser Elves. Join me and add your name to those who will be remembered.”

“I don’t want to be remembered, neither by you nor by anyone else.” Thranduil struck, shortening the distance between them.

“Aaaaargh!”

A force wrenched the black sword in his hand as blinding pain shot through Thranduil’s arm. The sword clattered to the ground as Thranduil’s knees hit the stone floor. He grabbed his arm that was aflame with burning, sizzling pain.

“Fool!” Sauron’s eyes were veritable firestorm. “Did you really think someone with dragon blood in them could hurt me? I control the blood. Understand? I. Am. Your. Master. You cannot hurt me. Get that through your head, boy!” Sauron snatched Thranduil’s hair in his hand and pulled him up from where he sat. “As long as Uluch’s blood flows inside you, I control you, one way or other. It may take centuries perhaps, but mind my word, Thranduil Oropherion. As long as you breathe, that blood will be inside you. And you will serve me.”

“I rather be with Mandos first,” Thranduil growled through gritted teeth. The pain was searing and debilitating, tearing through his left arm from the tips of fingers to the shoulder.

“Well, then, boy. If it is death you wish, then death I will give.” A fire ignited around Sauron. He grew in size, terrible and dark.

“Elbereth!”

A stream of light appeared above the rim of the fire columns, then with thunderous noise the stone column that had once held the ice blocks tumbled onto the column of fire and the lava stream surrounding the circular stage.

“Step away from him, you stain of Morgoth!”

Gilmagor was no longer how Thranduil remembered him. The elder Elf seemed brighter, bigger, majestic and terrifying at the same time. Everywhere, he emitted white light and in his hands he held two swords blazing like the stars.

Sauron’s face contorted. His fiery hair flickered like flames. He threw Thranduil onto the floor.

“You dare to face me? A mere Elf?” Sauron sneered.

Thranduil tried to sit up when a hand reached for him, one on each of his arm. Thranduil looked up to see Aron and Elrond. They grabbed each of Thranduil’s arms and dragged him away toward the bridge made by the collapsed stones when enormous energy pulsed. Aron and Elrond hoisted Thranduil up and ran over the bridge.

“Gilmagor. We have to go back for Gilmagor.” Thranduil turned back and saw a stream of white light clash with the tower of flames.

Once they crossed the stone bridge and away from the tower of fire, Elrond looked over Thranduil’s left arm which was visibly shaking. “Where are you hurt? What did he do?”

“The left arm. No. It is calming now.” Thranduil rubbed the arm as the pain slowly subsided.

“Where is the other sword you were holding?” Elrond asked as they turned and watched the columns of fire that circled the stone stage go out.

Instead of the fire circling the stage, a smaller tower of fire encircled Sauron. Around it, stream of silver light crisscrossed Sauron’s fiery tower. A sudden energy pulsed through the chamber, throwing off the white light. The three young Elves took cover as the ground trembled and rubble fell from overhead. Thranduil looked up just in time as Gilmagor’s body flew over the lava stream and fell with a thud in front of them. Gilmagor coughed up blood, staining his tunic with more red.

“Why are you still here?” Gilmagor growled lifting his head from the ground. “Fly, you fools! That is an order.”

Elrond ran over to the swordmaster when the tower of fire rose and landed on the stone tower holding Sauron’s throne. Thunder rumbled from up above them.

“I was going to spare you, but I see you leave me no choice.” Sauron sat down on his throne and raised his hand.

Thranduil looked around when the heavy footsteps shook the ground. A door at the far end of the chamber was thrown open and a horde of Orcs entered the chamber, heavily armed and armored.

“I wanted to show you my gentler side, but you all just push and push.” Sauron growled, a sound more a beast than human. “We could have worked together. Created beauty and majesty. Bring order and peace. But you just wouldn’t cooperate. Well, you lowly creatures,” Sauron leaned down from his throne. “Rest assured that I will achieve my goal. Even as we speak, more of my Orcs are coming to join me here. I wanted to spare that sapling of a king the burning down of his cities, but you have forced my hands.” He turned to the Orcs. “Kill them!”

The Orcs took out their weapons. Gilmagor pushed himself off the ground, but the two swords fell off his hands. Thranduil could tell that Lord Gilmagor was on his last bit of strength. Thranduil glanced at Elrond. Pushing Gilmagor to Aron, Thranduil and Elrond each picked up one of Gilmagor’s two swords. If they were going to die here, they were going to die fighting to their last breath.


	19. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mairon commands his Orcs, and Elrond does what he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go before the start of the second section. Just a big thank you to everyone who left me reviews, kudos and follows. Thank you.

**Forochel. April 8, SA 543**

**MAIRON** opened the door to the chamber wide to accommodate the entire ranks of the Orcs he had called. Every Orc outside this chamber should be here.

Gilmagor looked spent, but the Maia did not want those glowing swords anywhere near him. That fall from the Blue Mountains should have sufficiently damaged Gilmagor to make him useless; apparently, it had not. The swordmaster was not the empty shell Mairon had expected him to be. Surprising when Gilmagor had not fought back after the Orcs took him. But then, Mairon had threatened him with the lives of the captured Silmacils.

The Maia grabbed his left shoulder to stop the shaking in his arm. Gilmagor’s swords had come through his protective fire layer and struck him. That vertical cut was deadly. Mairon tried to still his thundering heart which still roared in his ears. It was close. Very close.

Mairon padded the chest armor he wore under his tunic. If it had not held… Mairon shivered.

Along with the black sword, he had also found a curious black armor on a broken skeleton among the crags of the valley beneath Gondolin. The body was shattered, but the armor on the poor fool did not even have a scratch. Mairon had salvaged the armor for his personal use.

It was at the king’s library at Lindon that he found the name of the metal: _galvorn_. Eöl who devised the metal and made the armor from it was a talented blacksmith, but his skill did not do justice to the material. The jet black metal was strong and hard like steel but was much more supple and light. No darts and blades cut through it. Even Anguirel which can cut through the iron and mithril took several tries before penetrating it. Mairon was in the process of making a complete suit of armor worthy of him using the metal. The material reminded Mairon of another metal from Valinor, from the forge of his old master Aule. It had similar qualities, except that metal had glowed silver like starlight.

Standing up from his throne, Mairon pointed to the four Elves in the chamber.

 _Shoot them! The two holding the swords, shoot their arms and legs._ Mairon was not done with those two yet. _The other two, heads and necks. Bury them with your arrows!_

The moment his command left his mind, tens, no hundreds, of arrows filled the chamber. Thranduil and Elrond struggled to strike down as many arrows as they could, but there were too many. Mairon grinned. The white-haired Elf grabbed the old Elf’s body, pulling Gilmagor behind some rubble that had fallen. He was trying his best to shield themselves from the arrows, but there were too many. And there was no place for them to retreat as only a pool of lava and his forge stood behind them.

Arrows pierced the white-haired Elf first, then the old Elf. Mounds and mounds of arrows. The chamber filled with hundreds of arrows, and those two moved no longer. As skilled as Thranduil and Elrond were, even they could not face that many arrows. At first, their arms, then their legs became like the backs of porcupines. They dropped their swords, both unable to move and gasping for breath. The fools!

Mairon would have laughed. That was how he envisioned it, except it did not happen that way. The reality never came out exactly the way he expected or wanted.

Instead, as the first volley of arrows left the bows of the Orcs, a shout rose behind the ranks of the Orcs.

It was then Mairon heard it, the frantic call from Rusco.

_Master, save yourself. The Silmacils!_

The duel had distracted him; Mairon realized now. He should have kept his sight on Rusco and other Orcs to make sure the plan had been carried through. Biting down the heat and fear rising inside him, Mairon looked down at the floor of the chamber. Thranduil and Elrond who had been busy trying to deflect the multitude of arrows looked up, their eyes filled with a strange light that Mairon did not recognize. He did not like that look.

Mairon gathered his power in his right hand. He had enough power to torch the entire chamber, but…. The Maia glanced at the small iron boxes, three in all, each sitting atop three stone columns far from the lava pool. In the event Elrond won, he had planned to let Elrond watch as each of the prisoners were torn to pieces atop the stone columns. But now those iron boxes prevented him from using his full power. 

If he wasn’t careful, he could bring the entire mountain to tumble on top of them. His spirit would survive, but no one in the chamber would survive, including his own body. It was the only reason he had refrained from using the full extent of his power while he was kept prisoner here. While contained in this fragile shell, his body was susceptible to all the weaknesses suffered by those on Middle-earth. And losing his physical body was not an option.

Also, there were his Orcs down below. They were almost here. It would be a waste if they all perished underground before they had a chance to climb up to the surface to be of use to him. Mairon looked around, trying his best to calm the frantic beat of his heart.

Over the body of the fallen Orcs, two Silmacils appeared. Unfamiliar faces. They were not one of the prisoners. And behind them an archer, a hunter, and another unfamiliar warrior. One of the Silmacils pushed someone bound in chains into the middle of the chamber, near the lava stream around the circular stage.

_Rusco._

“You are done, servant of Morgoth!” one of the Silmacils, his sword covered in black blood, said, as he glared up at Mairon.

“Thoron! Baldor! Thank the Valar!” the mixed blood cried out.

Behind the two Silmacils, one, three, then several Silmacils, his prisoners, appeared. Five of them broke off and ran toward his stone tower, their swords glowing, their body taut and sizzling with raw power.

“Surrender. We have already sent signals to our army on the border. They are on their way.”

“Oh, is that so? Let them come. The Orcs you see are not all there are.”

 _To arms!_ Mairon commanded all his minions.

The Maia glanced at Rusco. That Silmacil had seen too much. Mairon had trusted, not the warrior, but the blood. The gold collar was still on Rusco, but if that was removed…. Mairon raised his eyes to the ceiling. He had created an opening once he was freed of his bondage. He did not want to be trapped again. It was the best route of escape, but Rusco, Mairon could not leave him. He knew too much.

He glanced at the floor again. The two unfamiliar Silmacils were moving toward Thranduil and Elrond. The Sinda and the Half-Elf had their backs to him, bending down to help Gilmagor and the white-haired Elf to stand.

The Silmacils sped up, then jumped, their swords white and glowing, forming a streak of light.

Gathering the lightning in his good hand, Mairon hurled it toward Elrond and Thranduil.

As soon as the lightning left his hand, Mairon flew down to the floor, hurled Rusco into the lava stream, then leaped into the crack on the floor of the chamber.

_Rise! Rise! Time for battle! Rise!_

To all the Orcs and the Trolls, Mairon sent out his order. If he could not command the Silmacils, then no one shall have them. They shall not leave this mountain alive.

**ELROND** felt, rather than saw, then heard Thranduil shout. His friend was a blur.

Flash of light, then a thunderous crack of lightning.

The sound of the blast was not so loud, but his ears rang as the world flashed. Everything turned white and the sounds were sucked out. It was as if all the sound in the world disappeared and Elrond shot through the air of this empty, soundless world.

Elrond crashed as someone fell on top of him who grabbed his head and wrapped himself around Elrond. When that person pulled away, Elrond looked up. It was Thranduil. Before Elrond could say anything, the Sinda was off, running toward Aron and Durion who were hunched over Gilmagor.

Someone was screaming, a bloodcurdling, tortured scream, a scream that tore through one’s soul.

Thoron was running with his cape in his hand as another Silmacil pulled out a burning figure from the lava stream. They rolled him on the ground smothering the flames. Instinctively feeling that he would be needed, Elrond ran after Thoron. 

Thoron was already singing the song of healing as Elrond joined. Rusco’s half-burnt body was smoldering. His hair had all but burnt away. His skin was mottled, charred, and melting. Thoron met Elrond’s eyes. Without speaking, he knew what Thoron wanted as the Silmacil’s songs concentrated on mending what he could while Elrond concentrated on controlling the pain. The two songs, different in melody and tone, but sharing the same rhythm and tempo, mingled arranging themselves into one music. Rusco’s scream dwindled into a groan.

All the Silmacils gathered around. Gilmagor walked up to them, supported by Aron and Baldor. The brothers of the Silmacils made a way for their commander. 

Gilmagor’s eyes filled with tears.

What was left of Rusco’s hair was smoldering still. The gray leather armor had burnt into a lump of charred mess that was hard to tell apart from the rest of Rusco.

Thoron glance up at Gilmagor and shook his head.

Elrond continued to sing even as Thoron stopped. He wanted to lessen as much pain as possible, but the strain was enormous. Rusco was in a lot of pain.

Rusco moved his mouth, now just a lump of charred flesh. A strange, strangled sound came from him, accompanied by halting breath. Gilmagor sank next to Rusco and took the burnt Elf’s hand in his.

“Thank you for your service, Rusco. For all the sacrifices you had to make. No matter what happened here, we know your heart was with us. Whatever that evil creature may have done to you, we will always remember you as one of us. We will never forget you. Be at peace and rest. May you remember us when we meet again.” Gilmagor placed his hand over his heart and closed his eyes. The other Silmacils did the same.

Elrond’s eyes filled with tears. Fighting the painful pressure in his throat, Elrond continued the song of comfort to lessen Rusco’s pain. Gilmagor was right. Whatever Rusco had done, he had given his service to his king for centuries.

Rusco’s halting breath slowed. Then, something strange happened.

As they watched, Rusco’s melted cheeks took shape again in front of their very eyes. Everyone gasped and moved back. The healing was too quick, even for powerful Elven spells. Elrond halted his singing and pulled back. Rusco’s armor and hair remained burnt and charred, but his skin and flesh turned smooth as if nothing happened. If it wasn’t for the half charred hair and the armor, they would have believed that the burn did not happen.

Rusco sat up, then frowned as he touched his face and arms.

Before anyone could say or move, Rusco jumped, then leaped onto one of the three stone columns at the far side of the chamber. The Silmacils around Gilmagor took out their weapons, ready to leap after Rusco. Gilmagor raised his hand to stop them.

“Rusco, what has Sauron done to you?” Gilmagor asked once Rusco reached the top of one of the columns.

“Forgive me, master. I didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t me. He spoke through me. It was my mouth, but not my words. I swear it. I could not...stop it. Please, believe me.”

“I believe you.” Gilmagor’s voice was quiet. “Tell me what happened.”

Widening his eyes, Elrond looked around at other Silmacils, but he could not read any of the faces. They were stoic and unreadable.

Rusco picked up a large iron box by his feet.

“I fell into a trap and was captured alive.”

“Why did you betray us?”

“I…I didn’t want to, but Orcs put this.” Rusco pawed the front of his throat with one hand. There was nothing there except burnt pieces of gray leather. “It was as if someone covered my head, commanding me to do things. I resisted as long as I could. Then, the Orcs fed me…”

The ground trembled. Everybody looked around them, their swords at the ready.

“There is no time. Sauron is rousing the Orcs.” Rusco’s face whose skin had returned to its normal hue crumpled with grief.

“What does he know?” Gilmagor’s voice was calm.

Rusco turned away. “Everything. Everything I know, he knows.”

Everybody in the chamber fell silent until the ground shook again.

“Please leave. We don’t have much time. The Orcs…he is gathering the Orcs.”

“We killed all the ones in the cave,” Thoron said.

Rusco shook his head. “More are coming. Underground.” Rusco pointed to the crack on the floor. “Thousands and thousands of them.” Rusco’s eyes filled with tears. “More arrive every day. Leave. Now. Please.” Rusco held up the iron box in his hand. “I will give you as much time as I could.”

“What are you doing?” Thoron asked. He took a step towards the stone column, but Rusco picked up a handful of the stuff from the box and threw it down.

POP! Pop! POP! Some of them fell onto the lava stream and burst into little balls of flame. Thoron would have moved forward if it wasn’t for Gilmagor’s firm grip on the Silmacil’s arm.

“Don’t come near. This … this is bat droppings. Sauron has been gathering them. Except for this chamber, everywhere else, the rocks and walls. They are covered in the bat droppings. This is the only way I could redeem myself.” Rusco’s arms trembled.

Gilmagor’s hand came around to his back. He made a fist and moved his fingers.

A Silmacil who stood next to Elrond pulled him toward the door. Elrond noticed the Silmacils standing next to Thranduil and Aron also pulled them away as some of the Silmacils retreated. Durion and the hunter were also ushered out. Elrond wanted to protest, but the look on Silmacil’s face brooked no argument.

“Rusco, you need not do this. Come with us. We’ll do this together. You need not sacrifice yourself. Please, lad.” Gilmagor’s voice was calm, soft. Begging.

“There are magma chambers below. This is the only way. Please, go, master. Brothers. Forgive me.” 

Elrond turned around to look one last time before being pushed out of the chamber. Rusco jumped. Thoron jumped up at the same time, reaching out for Rusco.

The hand of the Silmacil holding Elrond’s arm tightened. Thranduil and Aron followed behind.

“Run as if your life depends on it!” someone shouted behind them.

Elrond and Thranduil turned back to the door when Silmacils rushed out.

“Move it!” Gilmagor shouted behind them. Everyone was running now.

BOOM!

The floor shook and the walls trembled. Someone on each side of him picked up Elrond’s arms and he was lifted into the air. Everybody was running, faster than they had ever done in their lives. The walls and the floor cracked, split, and shook. The entire cave trembled as roar followed behind. And the floor caved. 

The world was turning upside down. There was no floor. No walls. Everything fell crashing down.

\----

 **Galvorn** (Sindarin, _shining black_ )—jet black metal Eöl devised. It was supple and light but strong as steel. Eöl forged a set of armor which he wore when traveling outside his home. It is supposed to be resistant to all blades and darts. Although it is never mentioned after the story of Eöl, he must have worn this armor when he followed his wife and son to Gondolin.

 **A/N:** Bat droppings (guano) are known to be highly flammable due to their nitrogen-rich content. In fact, during the Civil War when the Union’s blockade prevented the shipments of gunpowder, the Confederate army used bat guano for ammunition.


	20. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil-galad discusses future with Lammaeg and Gilmagor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This post is supposed to be the last chapter for this section, but there was too much stuff so I divided into two. The next one will be up later this weekend. Too many things are happening at the moment for me to post for a while. The next section--Green Woods--won't be posted until sometime in April. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your kind support and generous reviews. Take care and stay safe.

**Grey Havens. May 10, SA 543***

**GIL-GALAD** stepped next to the Lord Commander who stood leaning on the private deck of the Swan Manor. By the look of the rumpled sheets on the bed, he could tell the commander did not have a peaceful night. Gilmagor looked pale and thin, his skin stretched taut and almost transparent. There was not much of him left. The king swallowed the lump in his throat.

The moment the Lord Commander returned just four days ago with Elrond and Thranduil, the Council chamber had been abuzz with the discussions and hearings of the reports from the Silmacils, scouts and the two captains. With the emissaries from the east also at the Grey Havens, the past few days had been endless meetings, and this was the first morning Gil-galad had a chance to speak privately with the Lord Commander. 

The entire episode at Forochel had been discussed and debated in varying details. But one thing was clear: Sauron stirred again. It was one fact no one could deny.

“How do you fare, master?” Repressing a sigh, Gil-galad watched the sun’s golden light rise over the blue waters.

Sauron was alive according to Gilmagor, but all signs seemed to indicate that the Maia had left this area. How long would he stay away? No one knew.

The king turned to his Lord Commander. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Without a word, Gilmagor pointed to the pair of swords on top of a chest by the foot of his bed. “I had entrusted them to Astalder and Astarno.”

The lump in his throat was back again. “Then, they did face Sauron.”

“They did. I am certain it was their sacrifice that held Sauron back for the past four centuries.”

Gil-galad took in a long breath. “Will you be planting a tree for Astalder when you plant them for those two lost Silmacils?” Gilmagor had not wanted to plant trees for those Silmacils with whom they had lost contact four centuries ago.

Gilmagor nodded. “I made the arrangements. Both Astalder and Astarno wanted the same tree. Perhaps we can plant them in the western shore overlooking the ocean.”

“You will plant for Astarno as well? He might not have been there or have survived and left for wherever. I heard his wife went with him.”

“I know Astarno. If he survived and Astalder didn’t, he would have sent a word.” Gilmagor was silent for a while before he continued. “I know it in my heart that he was with Astalder. He was one of the Silmacils. If his father and brother were not lost in the Battle of Sudden Flames, if he didn’t have to take up the family responsibility, he would have remained one of us. Once Silmacil, always Silmacil. But I know because they were the best of friends.” The elder Elf was silent for a while. “Besides, all three of them wanted their trees planted alongside each other.” The Lord Commander’s feeble voice cracked at the edges.

“Three? Who is the third? Not Rusco or Sadron.” They had lost two more Silmacils at Forochel.

“There was another. Asumo was his name. His tree sank with Beleriand. Those three lads…”

Gilmagor was again silent. He seemed unable to talk for a long time, but the king could not urge him or question him. There was grief in that silence, old grief, one of many, Gil-galad was certain, that his master carried inside.

 _Asumo?_ The name was vaguely familiar to him. Just as Astarno’s name had been when it was first spoken at Thranduil’s trial after that incident at the Dwarven ruin. If they were the brothers of the Silmacils together, then they could have been around Hithlum when he was a child.

But Gil-galad had been young and ignorant of the world at that time and had not concerned himself with the names of the surrounding people. And now only a handful of Silmacils was alive.

_So many people. So many lost through the years._

A servant brought in a pot of hot tea and the plates of food.

“Where is Lammaeg? Isn’t he late?” Gilmagor limped to his chair.

“My uncle has a meeting with Lord Cirdan and the emissaries from Amdir and Oropher. He may join us later.”

“I was quite surprised that the Silvans took Amdir to be their king. I always assumed it would be Oropher. “

“So did we all. There was an extensive discussion about it at the council chamber when they first arrived. And as you may have guessed, Oropher wants his son back.”

“Perhaps it is time Thranduil returns to his father. The lad had been through enough. I have already removed him from his current position. Belegor will take the full captaincy of the Royal Guards.”

Gil-galad grimaced. He knew his master would not take their disobedience lightly. And whatever he had in mind for Thranduil would also apply to Elrond as well.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Thranduil and Elrond will teach the recruits coming in next year.

“Is this really necessary?”

“They defied not only my order as their commander but your command as their king. That is a failure of discipline and should not be taken lightly. As officers, they should be held to a higher standard than the common soldiers. If officers are allowed to disobey with little consequence, how could you expect them to command and have their orders obeyed?”

“But to remove them from their position entirely, is it not too harsh?”

“By teaching others discipline, they will learn its value. And they may need time for themselves. It will give them some time to recover and think about their future. And Elrond can concentrate on his work as the councilor.”

“But…”

“I know what you wish for him, but Elrond is not ready for this position.” 

“If it wasn’t for Thranduil, Elrond would not have disobeyed our commands. You know this.”

Gilmagor sighed. “It is not just that, Ereinion. I feel my position is not the best use of Elrond’s talents. For now, let Elrond concentrate on learning to control the Council Chamber. We need to give the lad a chance to find himself instead of throwing him into where we think he should be. Give him a couple of years to think about what he wishes to do with himself. If commanding an army is what he wants, you have the authority to make that happen. As for me, I believe Elrond will shine as a councilor and a diplomat. I am hoping Lammaeg will take Elrond under his wing. Your uncle is an excellent orator and negotiator. Lammaeg is prickly, but he knows how to command a crowd and move people. Elrond could benefit much from your uncle’s tutelage which in turn will benefit you. He will be a voice of calm reason, and a staunch supporter of your policies.”

“But then, who will take…” Gil-galad could not say it. A lump was caught in his throat.

“I recommend Thoron. He will make a wise commander.”

“I thought you wanted him for the captaincy of the Silmacils?”

“I did. But I realized Thoron is ready to leave the fieldwork behind. Losing Rusco struck him hard. When he returns, I will have a talk with him.”

“But isn’t he leading those bear people back to the Misty Mountains?” The king sipped the tea which tasted bitter on his lips. “He may not return for a year or more.”

The Skin-changers, Gil-galad had learned, took the brunt of Sauron’s attack. One of the Skin-changers had turned on his people and attacked the two bear villages, one black and the other white. Most of the white bears were destroyed, but many from the black bear clan survived. Thoron and some of the Silmacils were leading them back to the Misty Mountains where the Skin-changers originally came from and wanted to return.

“Thoron should return by next New Year before the ship leaves.”

The king nodded. He wanted to ask Gilmagor to stay but could not. The commander had already postponed his departure twice, once by his plea and another to await Astalder. And the ordeal of the events at the north took much out of the Lord Commander. Gil-galad could see it in the almost painful slowness of the commander’s movements, in the haze of Gilmagor’s once eagle-like eyes, and in the pale flickering of his once bright light.

“Lammaeg prevented me from saying it at the Council, but the mistakes I made at Forochel are too grave.”

At the council meetings, Gilmagor had offered the resignation of his post, stating he made a grave error during the incident at Forochel. His uncle had effectively changed the discussion, moving the topic away from it.

“We all make mistakes, master.”

“Not like this. Granted, I could not have known Sauron’s plan for the Silmacil. But I should have anticipated. I have allowed my feelings for Astalder to cloud me. Then, there is that matter with Thranduil. I ordered Elrond to use the King’s Gambit when I saw Thranduil using the technique that I knew Elrond could not counter. I thought he meant to kill Elrond, that he had given in to Sauron just like…”

Gilmagor did not complete that sentence, but the king knew who he meant to compare Thranduil to— _Maeglin_ , the one who betrayed the location of Gondolin to Morgoth.

“It was an easy mistake under the circumstance.”

Gilmagor shook his head. “Before Thranduil attacked, he took up one of my swords. I knew the swords did not tolerate the touch of those who are evil. I should have known Thranduil’s intention could not have been evil. I should have seen it. Had Elrond obeyed me, Thranduil would not be alive today. I let my prejudices cloud my judgment.” The commander shook his head again. “Even after all those mistakes I have made…I let Lord Finwe down, could not keep my promise.”

Gil-galad inhaled a long breath. He knew what his master carried inside. His uncle had told him about it, too. Gilmagor’s grief lay in having lost all the kings in the line of Finwe. His uncle said the commander carried the burden for each king lost during his watch.

“I have heard from my uncle, about you and Feanor. But it was Feanor who abandoned you. You did not let anyone down.”

“Feanor lost his father, whom he loved more than anything. He was so full of anguish with the pain of loss and anger at the world that took everything from him: his mother, his beloved father, and those damn jewels on which he poured his soul. They were enough to drive anyone mad with grief. Had I understood him better…If I had only tried to work with Feanor rather than walk away… I watched rather than do everything I could have done to stop him when the slaughter started.”

“But you were able to stop my father at the head of Lord Fingolfin's host before things got worse. My uncle said if it wasn’t for you, it would have been much worse.”

“Perhaps. But I angered Feanor even further after the battle. He may not have left us behind if I had tried to understand. Had I been more compassionate.” Gilmagor dropped his head. “Instead, I judged first.”

“Did you not think that you were meant to be with my grandfather? My uncle told me, you and the Silmacils scouted and planned the routes through Helcaraxë, that without you, so much more people would have been lost in that icy hell.”

“The Silmacils did what they were supposed to. But we could not protect any of our kings. We lost them again and again.”

“Through no fault of yours or the Silmacils.” Gil-galad could sit no longer. He got up and paced. “My grandfather left everyone behind and gone off to fight Morgoth telling no one. And my father…I heard he sent you to his brother with an important mission. You didn’t leave him.”

Gilmagor let out a long sigh. “I was sent to Lord Turgon with a vital message as well as to divide the Enemy’s attention.”

“And you were routed away from my father and my uncle and forced to follow Lord Turgon to Gondolin because the Enemy’s army now separated you from my uncle. It was what it was, master. You could not have done otherwise.”

“And when Gondolin fell…”

“You were away on a secret order from Lady Idril to find a route from Gondolin to the sea. You met them as Tuor and Lady Idril led the people out from their secret way. It was your carefully chosen routes that kept them safe through the enemy-infested regions” Gil-galad knew he was droning on right now, but he felt that his master needed to be reminded.

If it was allowed, he wanted to shake the commander. “I heard it all from Lady Idril herself at Sirion. I know you think you let them down, but you were spared because Eru had meant for you for other things. You are the one who told me that, that I was spared for a reason, that there is a bigger scheme of things than we are privy to. You said to look ahead and not look back because my job in this world is to walk the path before me, not to look back and wallow in sorrow.”

Gil-galad did not realize he was shouting until he saw a servant rush in with his eyes wide. He waved the poor elf away before returning to his seat.

Gilmagor threw his head back and laughed out loud.

“Now the student teaches the teacher. You have learned well, my pupil.”

“Of course, I have, master. You taught me.”

The king was glad. Gilmagor’s eyes shone eagle-sharp the way it used to. It would not last, he knew. But he was grateful for every moment he could have with his mentor. And for the first time, he felt he could understand his master in a way he had not done before. His uncle had said that Feanor was his master’s biggest regret. Perhaps now he could understand a little of his master’s preoccupation with Thranduil.

“You are in a good mood this morning.” It was then that Lord Lammaeg joined them. “I was afraid you were fading away from the ordeal you faced up at the north. Good to hear you laugh again.” Lammaeg took the tea the servant offered.

“Your illustrious nephew was reminding his teacher of his old words and making him very proud.”

“Yes, yes. He has grown over-tall these few years. Very becoming, don’t you think so?”

“Now, you two are making fun of me.” Gil-galad turned to his uncle. “So, how did the meeting go?”

“I am glad that Amdir is the king. He is certainly much easier to work with than Oropher.”

“What do we know about him?” Gil-galad remembered little about Oropher’s cousin.

“We didn’t provide you information on Amdir because we didn’t think he was worth mentioning. His father was Lord Arandur’s younger brother. I believe he perished in that first battle Thingol had with the Morgoth’s forces. Lord Arandur raised him like his own son, I was told,” Gilmagor said.

“That means both Istuion and Amdir grew up in Oropher’s house. What makes Amdir easier to work with?”

“Unlike Oropher, Amdir is easy going and can be persuaded. From what I remember of him from Sirion, he also seemed to feel less strongly about our people than Oropher. During those days, we had to work together to make sure the Orcs did not encroach too near our settlements. While Oropher made clear boundaries when it came to us, Amdir crossed over few times and was lax with the rules. He was easier to work with but was also less reliable. Oropher, on the other hand, I never worried about the areas he commanded because Oropher is meticulous, and his Elves are highly trained. But, as you know, Oropher knows exactly what he wants and can be unyielding and unwilling unless there is a definite benefit to his people.”

“With Amdir as their king, our people need not negotiate with Oropher directly,” Lammaeg said. “That would be a load off our emissaries. You think Thranduil is difficult, Ereinion? Try dealing with Oropher. He is a grumpy old fox. Bad as Gilmagor, I say. Perhaps not as intelligent, but certainly sly and prickly.”

“Who’s calling who prickly?” Gilmagor frowned. “At least, we can have the best of both, it seems. We could use Oropher’s expertise on the deployment of the warriors in the east but negotiate with Amdir.”

“I suppose he doesn’t know?” Lammaeg turned to the king.

Gil-galad shook his head. “Amdir and Oropher are not together, master. Amdir is a king to a small minority of the Silvans. Oropher moved across the river. And it is my understanding that the majority of the Doriathrin warriors and the counselors from Menegroth went with him. If we want to work with Oropher’s warriors, we will still have to negotiate with him and not Amdir.”

“How did that happen?”

“I am surprised you are not aware of it, Gilmagor. Was there no news from the Silmacils in the east?”

“Oropher keeps a tight house. No holes. And my lads stand out too much for them not to be noticed. And I didn’t want to alarm Oropher. He is sharp and he is prickly, a dangerous combination.”

“Perhaps it is time we recruit Sindar and Nandor into the Silmacil,” the king suggested.

“The new Silmacils should be trained to blend in with the other Silvans and sent to Amdir, Ereinion. They should be able to gather information without Oropher’s knowledge,” Lammaeg said.

“Do we really want to send spies? Oropher is a beehive. Go too near and we may get more than we bargained for.” Gilmagor frowned as he shook his head. “He is suspicious of us as is, we should show our friendship rather than send spies. If Oropher gets even a whiff that we have spies gathering information, we may alienate him even further. Is that what we want?”

“That is why I am suggesting we send them to Amdir. Perhaps instead of the Silmacils, we can send an ambassador who can stay with Amdir and keep his ears open. No matter how tight a ship Oropher may command, news must flow to his neighbors. We are not intruding into his territory, but we could still gather information.”

“I think that is reasonable. Overall, I think it is a good thing that we have Amdir as the king and not Oropher,” Gil-galad said. “Perhaps we didn’t need Thranduil here.”

“No. I think it was good that we had the opportunity to educate the lad here,” the commander said as he turned to the view of the sea outside.

“He certainly came out the richer.” Lammaeg harrumphed.

“I believe we all came out the richer.” Lord Commander sat up. “He gave us a lot of trouble, but we also received much in return. He made us think about things we would not otherwise have. Had he not? And the incident at the Dwarven ruin would have been disastrous without him, and I believe even this time, if Thranduil and Elrond did not catch Sauron’s interest, the outcome would have been very different.” Gilmagor looked up and met the king’s eyes. “As you said, Ereinion, we are a part of a bigger design. Things happened the way they did for a reason. Even the loss and the betrayal. There was also sacrifice and courage. And we know more about Sauron than we had before. There are both the benefit and the loss. A combination of all these is a valuable experience for us in preparation for what is to come. We should all remember that.”

Gil-galad sat back in his chair. The morning sunlight reached in illuminating the gold utensils. Perhaps Lord Gilmagor was right. He had learned to understand the grief of the Sindar more through his encounter with Thranduil than he did with Lord Cirdan or even Lord Celeborn. As much as he was trouble, Thranduil made him think about things beyond what he saw with his eyes. At the least, Elrond seemed to have changed much in how he viewed the Sinda. That said much to him. Yes. The years with Thranduil at Lindon were not wasted. The road went ever on, and each meeting, each relationship meant something. And even if he was not aware of it now, these relationships could have a vital impact in the future, to him, to his people, perhaps to all free people on this land.

At the least, Gil-galad prayed that the connections he and Thranduil made in Lindon will help in uniting his people so that when the day came to face Sauron, all Elves, regardless of their allegiances, will stand together as one.

\----------

 **Maeglin** (Sindarin. _Sharp Glance_ )—Child born to Eöl the Dark Elf and Aredhel, sister to Turgon(Elrond’s ancestor). When Maeglin was 80 years old, Aredhel left Eol taking Maeglin with her to Gondolin. Eöl pursued them and was given a choice of death or life live within Gondolin. He chose death and sought to take his son with him, but instead killed Aredhel who jumped in front of the poisoned darts meant for her son. Turgon had Eol thrown off the cliff. Turgon held Maeglin in honor, and Maeglin became a valiant warrior and wise counselor to Turgon. However, he was in love with Idril (Elrond’s grandmother) which was considered taboo as she was his first cousin. He was later captured by Morgoth and taken by the promise of Idril and the lordship of Gondolin, betrayed its location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: *I noticed a mistake on the year. After April 1st, the New Year, the year should be Second Age 543.


	21. The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil faces a choice, to speak or not to speak. And when you cannot do one or the other, what do you do?

**Durion’s House. June 12, SA 543**

**THRANDUIL** glared at Eryn.

“Why do we have to clean up?”

“Well,” she placed her hands on her waist and looked up at him. “Aron and Durion cooked the dishes. And I baked the bread and made dessert.”

“Elrond and I hunted.”

“We all out there foraging for the ingredients so that doesn’t count. Now get!”

Thranduil frowned down at the petite woman.

“Come, Thranduil. It is the least we could do. Thank you for the lovely meal, Mistress Eryn. We will make sure everything is shiny and clean.” Elrond took the tray Eryn gave him, piled high with the dirty dishes.

“Eryn, you know these two are princes, the ones you are ordering around, yes?” Aron stifled a chuckle.

“In my house, they no princes. They family. And here everybody work. That is the rule under my roof.”

“The lady of the house has spoken,” Durion opened the door with a flourish. “Lads, do the honors.”

The trail through the glade in front of Durion’s house to the waterfall was in full bloom, filled with fragrant pink and white wildflowers. 

“Telling me what to do. And that was a dinner to celebrate my Begotten Day,” Thranduil grumbled. It was two moons later, but they had surprised him with a belated begotten day presents at the dinner.

When he found a spot with a shallow area to dunk the dirty dishes in the water, Thranduil crouched down. “Who does she think she is?”

“Stop complaining. I already know you like her.” Elrond sat down next to Thranduil to wash the pots.

“You are mistaken.”

“This is me you are speaking to, idiot,” Elrond smirked.

“Yes, yes. I forget. You know everything.”

“Not everything. But I know you appreciate people who stand up to you. Probably the same reason you are fond of Lalaithwen.” Elrond chuckled as he picked up a handful of sand to scrub the dirty pot.

Lalaithwen.

A wisp of wind swooshed past Thranduil, stirring his blade straight hair. An ache he had ignored and locked away rolled and plopped into the secret lake, sending a ripple through his carefully guarded heart. He had not allowed it, so why was there this ache?

“What does it matter? I will be leaving soon.” Thranduil concentrated on a greasy spot on the plate he was cleaning.

Elrond stopped scrubbing and turned to him. Thranduil realized, too late, the slip of his tongue. He always said too much to Elrond. Thranduil refused to look at his friend. It was times like this when he resented Elrond’s perceptiveness.

“Thranduil, you…?” The Half-elven gazed at him, his mouth agape. “All this time? You must know. Surely, you know Lalaithwen cares for you. I thought it was you…”

“Some things are not meant to be.” Thranduil rubbed harder at the small spot that refused to come clean.

“But if the feeling is mutual, what is there to stop you? Have you spoken to her? I am sure if you ask her, even if you were to leave here, she will go with you.”

Thranduil dropped the plate back into the water and turned to Elrond. “And how do you think she will fare, Elrond? Among the Sindar who are traumatized by what happened to them? They will not love her.”

“You don’t know that. And she is no delicate flower.”

Thranduil let out a long sigh. “Hardy? Yes, she is. But what if the destination alone is not the problem? Leaving family and friends and the world that is familiar to you, that alone takes strength. But imagine having to live among the people who look at you and see in your face the reminder of a tragedy they cannot forget. It will not be at all like you and your brother living among the Feanorians, Elrond. No matter what they did at Sirion, Feanorians cared for you, owed you their care. And even if that was not so, you and your brother were their kin. But those people who went with my father left Lindon because they did not want to live with the Noldor.”

“But you love her, and she loves you. That must mean something.”

“Love?” Thranduil scoffed. “Is that what this is? All I know is that she fascinates me, and I suppose I fascinate her. And perhaps these feelings could become more if allowed to deepen, but are they enough?” Thranduil let go of the plate in his hand. “If I was born in the Second Age, or if none of the terrible things happened, maybe I could have been a different person. Then, perhaps I could say, with conviction, I love her, marry her and be content.” Thranduil turned to Elrond. “But I am not that person.”

“So, what if you are not that person? Love is love no matter who you are. If two hearts feel the same, what can it not conquer?”

Thranduil looked up at the sky. The sun was sinking, dipping its reddish feet in the water. Long shadows darkened the air about them. He wanted to believe, like Elrond, that mutual feelings alone were enough. But he had seen too much of the world to believe that.

“I want to believe that love is about just two people and their feelings. But that would be true only if we lived alone in the world with no one to answer to. Have you thought about what it would be like for her if she were to come with me? The people who left with my father could not live in Lindon because they could not forget the violence and the loss they suffered at the hands of the Noldor. Even when she had no hand in the kinslayings, they will reject her. And she has only ever known love and admiration. She is a flower used to the warmth of the sun. Hardy, she may be, but when you transplant a warm-weather flower to a place full of snow and frigid temperatures, how long do you think it will last?”

“You must trust in her strength.”

“Yes, she will brave the weather, and perhaps win a friend or two. But, what if the one for whom she had given up her world fails her?”

“I don’t understand.”

Thranduil massaged his temple. Abandoning the dishes, he sat down on a large rock by the water’s edge. Elrond looked up from where he sat.

“Every so often, I dream of that time… in Sirion, or worse, at Menegroth.” Thranduil squeezed his eyes close, trying to shut out the image of his brother, the blood and the smoke. The ever-flowing time had lessened the sting, but his immortal memories remained vivid as ever.

“And what shall I say, Elrond, when I wake up after one of my nightmares and see her face? Do you think I will find comfort in her? Would I be able to tell her about my nightmares? Tell her about my horror and anger? Would she be able to look me in the eye and tell me everything is all right? And what of my father? Am I to ignore his feelings? Tell myself that my feelings triumph over his, he who had lost so much more than I have?” The ache grew and sat on his chest like a boulder.

Thranduil gazed at Elrond. “Dreams are not real. And people like you and I, we are not meant to love.”

Elrond’s eyes wavered. “People like you and I?”

“Perhaps not you. Just me.”

He was broken. Pretending he was like other people was a lie. The inability to generate a clear light, the way that dragon blood took to him, Thranduil knew what that meant. The darkness lingered within him. Refusing to accept that did not make it untrue. He knew it, accepted it, and resigned himself to it. Even Sauron said so. The Maia was a liar, but Thranduil knew there was also truth in his words.

“You are wrong, Thranduil. People like us have more capacity to love because we know what loss is. And you are not broken.”

Thranduil glared at Elrond. “Are you inside my head?”

“I don’t need to be inside your head to know what you are thinking, stupid. I don’t know a lot of things, and I don’t know other people, but I know you.” Elrond looked directly into Thranduil’s eyes. “You think you are broken, but you are not. You are just lost. There are too many fogs that hide your path, and you have stumbled on the rocks and pebbles on the road. You have been wandering in the dark, in the night forest. But the sun will rise, Thranduil. No matter how desperate, how hopeless your wanderings have been, the sun will rise and melt away those fogs. Then, you will see that the forest which had been a nightmare to you was just a forest of trees and flowers. But until then, let her be the beacon to guide you, and let me be your companion. I will walk with you, Thranduil Oropherion. Whatever darkness we must overcome, we will do it together.”

Thranduil could not help the corner of his lips lift. “Silver-tongued bastard.”

“Actually, the right term is gold tongued.” Elrond corrected him. “Lord Celeborn already has that title. You know, he is a Sinda. So silver.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Hairy-chest.”

“Watch your language, Flower-head.”

“Do you really want to call me that when you are the one who made me into one?” Thranduil got up. “We still didn’t settle that matter, have we?”

“Nah-ah,” Elrond jumped a few steps away, picking up the pot and waving it in front of him. “Remember, I fixed it, and I can unfix it, too.”

Thranduil scoffed, then sat back down.

“Besides, why go east?” Elrond came back to sit down next to him. “You are no longer a child. Children grow up and leave their parents to make a home of their own. That is the nature of things. Stay here, Thranduil. With me. With her.”

“And what am I going to do here, Elrond? All I know is how to fight. The king has plenty of warriors. And this teaching thing, you know I am not good at it.”

They were no longer captains. He knew their disobedience would cost them, but he had not expected Gilmagor to take away their commission. The Lord Commander had stripped them of their rank. They no longer had any obligations for the rest of the year until the next new year when they were demoted as the trainers to the coming recruits.

“You are wrong. There is a lot of good you can do at Lindon.”

“You expect me to be your king’s lackey for all eternity?”

“Training new warriors is an honorable job. You are not subjected to the king and his schedule as you were when you were with the Royal Guards. But if you don’t like the position, you can always accept the Council’s offer to join them. They have recognized your valor and your part in fighting Sauron at the north. You are welcome to go anywhere in Lindon, to learn anything you wish at the expense of the king. Build a house on that property Lord Cirdan gave you. The one that your father used when he was here. By staying, you could do a lot of good for your people by making sure there are good policies for Sindar and Nandor. You could be their protector, a leader for your people.” 

“They have you to protect them, Elrond. And there are Lord Cirdan and Celeborn. Can you see me like that, a protector of the people?” Thranduil chuckled. “And a councilor? Valar forbid! Send me out to a battlefield. I may do some good there, but I am not good at dealing with the Councilors or fighting for the rights of the people. That is what people who have talent in governing do. I have no such talent.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

“No, Elrond. I know what I am good at and strutting around in pretty robes and telling others what to do are not my strength.”

“You think you are not, but you are good at reading people, Thranduil. You understand much more than you let on. I think if it was anyone else but you, I don’t know if we would have gotten out of that cave with minimal loss.”

“I don’t know about that, but I will tell you one thing. We made it because you trusted me. I don’t know if I would have had the faith you did. How could you have trusted so completely? I could have turned on you. I could have been that Silmacil—what was his name?”

“Rusco.”

“He was under Sauron’s command. In time, that would have been me.”

Thranduil shivered. He was certain Sauron had given Rusco the dragon blood. That was the only thing that made sense, the way that Silmacil recovered after being burned like that. It reminded him of the burn from the dragon fire he received at the Dwarven ruin. He didn’t realize he recovered until Astarno showed up at the Throne Room in that ruin.

“Let us hope that there are no more of those collars," Elrond said. "At least, everything within that mountain was destroyed. According to the latest report from Thoron and Baldor, few Orcs survived from that eruption.”

The Silmacils went east to join his father's Doriathrin warriors to clear the Misty Mountains of the remaining Orcs and trolls who had escaped the collapsed caves. Although they knew it was near impossible to eradicate the entire race of Orcs and trolls, they would do what they can.

“Do you think Bodvar and his people will be all right?” Elrond looked across the stream. “The king had hoped they would stay. We could have been allies.”

“Well, Bodvar said his people always planned to return to the Misty Mountains. They only moved to Forochel to be with the White Bears after Orcs took their home, but now that most of that clan is gone, there is nothing to hold them to that place. Losing his father had been devastating for him, but he has his family. Bodvar is a good man, strong and wise. He will do right by his people.”

Elrond smiled. “You must really like him. I don’t think I have heard you speak so highly of another. And a man at that.”

“I am just glad I had a chance to explain my actions to him. I would have hated to have left the things the way we had at the mountain.”

“You have Mistress Eryn to thank for that. Remember that next time.”

That was true. Had it not been for the help Eryn and the Elven soldiers gave Bodvar in his fight against Skuld, Thranduil would have missed the opportunity to explain to Bodvar his actions at the mountain.

“If they didn’t go back to the village, Bodvar may not have survived the Orc attack. When you think about it, it makes you wonder how things all worked out even though we lost people. It could have been so much worse.” Elrond shivered.

Once they escaped the falling and erupting mountain, the sun rose. And with the light, they saw the black smoke rising from the direction of the village. By the time they arrived at Bodvar’s village, they found most of the homes burnt down and the rest smoldering. Fortunately, more than half of the villagers were alive, aided by the Elven soldiers.

“Hopefully, Sauron lost his supply of those gold collars when the mountain erupted.” Elrond pulled his warrior's braid.

“My guess is that he had a limited supply. They were made of solid gold and if Sauron had more of them, I do not see why Sauron would not have made good use of them. On the rest of the Silmacil.” Thranduil had wondered about that, and the more he thought about it, he was convinced that the collar would not work without the dragon blood. Otherwise, it did not make sense that Sauron wasted the gold collar on the Skin-changer and himself when he could have used them on the Silmacils.

While helping Bodvar’s people salvage what they could from the village, Gilmagor had questioned both Thranduil and Elrond as well as Aron. And the Silmacils questioned everyone else, the Skin-changers, the scouts, even Eryn. Because Thranduil had to translate for the Silmacils communicating with the Skin-changers, he was able to gather a few pieces of information others did not tell him: that Elrond could have escaped with Eryn but remained at the village to wait for his return; that Bjorn under the influence of the gold collar almost killed Elrond; and Skuld, who had tried to take Yrsa, almost succeeded in taking over the village if it wasn’t for Eryn. The Green Elf had escaped the village with the other soldiers. When her group met the Elven scouts returning to the East Fort, Eryn convinced them to go with her to the village to rescue Elrond.

“The way they had affected Bjorn and Rusco, I don’t doubt the collars were powerful. Even Rusco broke under its power.” Elrond shook his head. “Perhaps you are correct. Sauron did not give each Silmacil warrior a collar because he didn't have enough. Can you imagine what damage sauron could have accomplished by controlling all those Silmacils? But then why did Sauron waste such gold collar on Bjorn instead of another Silmacil?”

Elrond was thinking through it now, but Thranduil did not say what he was thinking. Because to do so meant he had to tell Elrond about the dragon blood.

“It seems the longer one was under its influence, the more control it had over you. Thank the Valar that you were not under its influence for long. At least, that is their assessment. Otherwise, things would have gone terribly.”

Should he tell Elrond about the dragon blood? No one at the Council Chamber had asked him about the dragon blood. Not even the Silmacils. It meant none of them was aware of it, and Thranduil did not volunteer the information. He didn’t know why. Fear, perhaps? Thranduil wasn’t sure. For a while, the Sinda feared someone would connect Rusco to his injury at the Dwarven ruin, but no one knew about the dragon burn. And the burn that Sauron had given him had taken a long time to heal, unlike Rusco's burns.

Although he had not mentioned it to the Councilors or the Silmacils, Thranduil had wanted to tell Elrond. But he had not found a right moment to talk. Now that the chance presented itself, Thranduil hesitated. What will Elrond think? Was it necessary for Elrond to know? A voice whispered: _What he does not know would not hurt him._

Thranduil inhaled a long breath. Elrond deserved the truth; his friend deserved his trust.

“It wasn’t just the collar.”

Elrond turned to him, his clear gray eyes unsuspecting.

Suddenly, fear clutched the inside of his stomach.

 _What if Elrond thinks I am tainted?_ _No one would know if I don’t say anything._

“What is it?” Elrond’s eyes clouded.

“There is something I did not mention to the Council. Remember early morning at the Bodvar's village? I told you that I have something to tell you.”

Was it his imagination that Elrond went rigid? Did he know about the dragon blood already? If Elrond did, Sauron would have been the source of that information as no one knew except that accursed Maia. But Elrond mentioned nothing about the dragon blood to the Council.

Thranduil dropped his gaze when Elrond turned to him fully. He could not meet Elrond’s eyes.

“Back in the Dwarven ruin, I told you I made a deal with the dragon.”

He heard Elrond taking a quick intake of breath. Thranduil had told Elrond about making a deal with the dragon, but he had glossed over the details.

“You asked me how my injured leg healed so fast. Remember that?”

Elrond sat there still as the boulder underneath him.

“I told you it healed quicker than I expected, but I didn’t tell you how.” Thranduil took in a quick breath. “The thing is, the dragon blood healed me.”

Elrond seemed to hold his breath. “How?”

“I drank it.”

When Elrond remained silent, Thranduil dared a look in his friend’s direction. Elrond got up. He looked up at the sky as twilight descended onto them. Elrond was silent for so long, fear slid around Thranduil, tightening around him. He could not breath.

“I wanted to tell you. I would have told you back at Bodvar’s village… I planned to tell you. Then, Bodvar put the collar on me, then…”

“But you drank the blood at the Dwarven ruin, not at Bodvar’s village. Four centuries ago. Four centuries! You had four centuries to tell me. After all the things….” Elrond turned away. “That Maia said you did, but I didn’t believe him. I thought I knew you better.”

“Not that I didn’t trust you. I just…” What had he thought? Thranduil got up, trying to find the right words that did not come.

“So, Sauron was right, after all. You did not trust me. Not really.”

The look of hurt on Elrond’s face was palpable. With freshly honed iron claws, the pain of it tore through Thranduil’s heart.

“I believed in you.” Elrond clenched his teeth. He almost choked on the next words. “I trusted you. I thought I knew you better than that twisted Maia. But it seems I didn’t know you at all. And here I was, thinking we are friends. Were we ever one? You desire to stand alone in the dark, then so be it.”

Elrond picked up the plates and the pots, threw them on the tray, the crashing sound of the plates and pans enough to make Thranduil wince. Then, the Half-elven stalked off toward the direction of Durion’s house.

The twilight dissolved into the night that descended suddenly and filled the grounds of the waterfall. Thranduil stood alone in the dark of the night. It seemed to him the world suddenly lost all its light.

“Dammit!”

Stifling the desire to scream, Thranduil kicked the stones by the water’s edge. He grabbed the back of his head and paced where he stood.

“What do I do?” Thranduil asked once he calmed.

“Talk to him,” a quiet voice answered back. “It is his fear talking. He doesn’t mean them.”

Thranduil did not turn around. He knew Aron was there for some time now, quietly waiting for Thranduil to acknowledge him. Aron was like that. Always careful not to intrude.

“When we give trust, we expect it back. All relationships are like that, Thranduil. It is a give and take.”

“Maybe I am incapable of trusting anyone. I know only how to take.”

“You know better than that, Thranduil. I am inclined to believe you thought you were protecting him, or you feared his judgment of you. You care for him more than I have seen you care for anyone. Well, besides your father, and us, of course.” Aron smiled. “Although, you didn’t tell us, either.”

Thranduil’s shoulders drooped beside him. Aron laid his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder and patted. 

“What happened, happened. But you can always remedy it. What is this about dragon blood?”

Thranduil let out a long sigh. “Remember what I told you about the dragon’s proposal?”

Aron nodded.

“What I didn’t mention was that the injury I sustained in the hands of the Orcs was more terrible than I let on. I don’t doubt now that if it wasn’t for the dragon blood, I would have been crippled for life, perhaps even permanently scarred. We are talking about dragon fire.”

“I thought healers at the North Fort healed the injury.”

“They calmed the pain, but that injury was from Sauron. I encountered a dragonling before I encountered that evil Maia. But that burn from the dragon fire healed with no intervention from anyone, and you know what they say about the dragon fires.” No one survived dragon fires; at least, they knew of no one who had.

“Then, perhaps, there is nothing evil about the dragon blood.”

Thranduil lowered his eyes. How he wished that were so. The more he thought of it, the dragon blood may be the more important ingredient to the power that the gold collar had. And he guessed that Sauron either did not have enough of the blood or it didn’t work on everyone. Perhaps both. That she- dragon had said that it takes darkness to bind.

“Sauron said to me, at the mountain, that the dragon blood will remain within me forever… that the dragon controlled me, and he controlled the dragon… that he will control me sooner or later.” Thranduil fisted his hands to keep them from trembling. He didn’t want Aron to see his fear.

“Thranduil, look at me,” Aron stepped closer, his hands now on both of Thranduil’s shoulders. “You fought your shadows all through the years after Sirion. Alone. With no one to help you. We knew we could not help you, so we just stayed by your side. Because that was all we could do. Do you know what your father said to me? He said your mother’s blood runs true in you. He believed there was strength in you that you were not even aware you had. He believed, and so did we. We still believe. Trust me, Thranduil, if you do not trust yourself. You are a lot stronger than you think you are.”

His eyes stung. Thranduil looked up and blinked away the tears. “My father hardly looked at me during those years.”

“Ai, Thranduil.” Aron shook his head. “Why do children not understand their parents? Trust me, elfling. He was always watching you. All through those years while he wandered Eriador. Before and after. Anyone who had been there with Lord Oropher could not mistake it. No father is prouder of his son than your father is of you.” Aron turned to the night sky. “Do you even know how hard your father negotiated with Gil-galad to have you return to him sooner?”

“I heard. I already spoke with Lord Istuion before he left, but I will serve out my entire term.”

“What? Why? Didn’t the Council gave you a choice?”

“I do not want to owe anything to Gil-galad. Only 177 years are left in my term. I have waited all this time. I could wait less than two centuries. And… perhaps there is a way to deal with the dragon blood in me. I will have a better chance of finding the answers here.”

Aron nodded. “I suppose you are right. I will have to tell Durion to go ahead without us, then.”

“Did he not come to settle down here?”

“He came to take you back to your father.”

“But Eryn.”

“Durion did not plan to fall in love. That is not something you can plan.” Aron chuckled. “But she knows his plans. We are all waiting for you.”

“But you have made a life here for yourself. You need not come with me.”

“Elfling! I stayed because I did not want to be parted from you. Lord Cirdan already knows, and so does my uncle. That was why he insisted I leave you and Durion halfway through that period of wandering. He wanted me to train and become, as he puts it, ‘more useful.’”

“I don’t want your sacrifice.”

“Who says it is a sacrifice?”

“You are doing this because you think you owe my brother.”

Aron frowned. “Do not assume, Thranduil.”

“Am I? Do you think I do not know that you think my brother gave his life for you? You want to dedicate your life to me, for my brother’s sake, because you think it is what Thra… Thranarin would have wanted. I appreciate what you and Durion are doing. But I can take care of myself. And I know my brother. He would not want you two to sacrifice yourselves for me or for anyone.”

“What the hell are you talking about, elfling?” Aron shook his head. “Come down from your high horses, little princeling. Our loyalty lies with Lord Oropher. It is natural for us to want to make sure his son is well. Sacrifice? I never thought of it as such. If you plan to stay around for a while longer, go appease Elrond and stop burning down every bridge you make. It is bad enough you make trouble everywhere you go.”

Aron pushed Thranduil’s back toward the flet built near Durion’s house. Three of them were supposed to sleep there as Durion and Eryn were still considered to be in their honeymoon stage.

“I will be sleeping on a tree around here, so take all the time to talk.” Aron walked toward a group of trees near the waterfall. “And pray that Elrond is nothing like Elwing. You know how terrifying she was when she got mad.” Aron waved.

“Aron!” Thranduil called out despite the tightness in his throat. “I’m glad you are back with us.”

The Sindarin warrior smiled. “Me, too, elfling. Me, too.”

When Thranduil reached the tree, Elrond was waiting for him. One look was enough to know the Half-elven was angry. Well, more than angry.

Thranduil knew that look, the gray eyes burning like the blades on fire. When Elwing used to have those eyes, he and Earendil would hide among the reeds of _Lisgardh,_ waiting for Elwing to cool down.

“Come with me.” Elrond turned and stomped into the forest.

“Aron said he wasn’t…”

Elrond did not stop and disappeared among the trees. Thranduil gulped, then quickened his pace to keep up. Elrond did not turn nor stop to wait for him. Even under the faint light of the stars, Thranduil could see the rigid line of Elrond’s shoulders and the fisted hands.

Thranduil thought of running away and hiding, the way he used to do with Earendil when Elwing got mad. She would rant and cry, but eventually, she would calm, and by the time he and Earendil came out and said sorry, she always forgave them.

He had done that occasionally with Elrond because Thranduil knew Elrond, too, would eventually forgive him. The Half-elven was so much like his mother in this. But this time was not one of those times.

He could say sorry when he made mistakes, but this time, it was not a mistake. This time, it was about trust. And trust was not just about forgiveness. Elrond, being Elrond, he could forgive, but would he be able to forget and trust him again? A broken trust was almost impossible to mend, and even by some enchantment it did, it would never be the same. And Thranduil knew that better than anyone.

There was no easy way out. Not this time.

What could he say? He was terrible with words. Nothing ever came out the way he wanted, especially when he needed to say the right things. It had always been easier just to listen or act deaf and walk away. So, when Elrond talked, Thranduil mostly listened. It was not that he did not want to share his feelings. His throat would just close up and words would elude him.

And Thranduil knew what kind of faith and trust Elrond must have had in him. He had heard it clearly when Gilmagor called out for Elrond to use the King’s Gambit. Thranduil did not know the technique, but the Royal Guards were taught to keep their distance from the king when they are out in the open, especially when the king led in an open attack. He knew the technique was powerful and deadly to those around the king, as it was meant to be used to clear the surrounding area of enemies to gain ground. It was also used as a last defensive act when the king was surrounded by enemies, although it required sacrificing of the guards nearest him.

Elrond stopped.

It was so sudden, Thranduil almost ran into him. They were under the night sky, in a glade far from Durion’s house. Thranduil’s heart boomed.

It was now or never. He needed to show Elrond that he trusted him, too. But his throat thickened and no sound would come. His father had told him once that when you trust completely, you gain one of two things: a friend for life or a lesson for life. And he knew how painful that lesson was.

But his friend had been there for him. Stood by him. Believed him. Trusted him.

Elrond turned.

Thranduil opened his mouth, but no words came. His mind was blank.

He did the only thing he could think of doing. Thranduil grabbed Elrond’s hand and placed it on his head, then he opened himself wide.

He held nothing back. All the feelings, thoughts, doubts, fears, and pain that he carried gushed out as if the steel and ice gates, behind which Thranduil hid everything that he could not express, broke. All the things he wanted to say: his gratitude, respect, pride, and love he felt for his friend and those things he did not want to say: his fears, humiliations, envy, and shame. He showed Elrond everything that happened in the ruin, at the north, all the things he did not mention. Everything.

The forest was silent. Only swooshing winds and the ethereal music of the trees whispered among the thick green leaves.

Elrond plopped down where he stood as if his legs were too weak to support him. Expelling a long sigh, Thranduil fell down next to Elrond.

The silver moon shone brightly high above.

The wind swirled and the whispering melodies of the music of the trees filled the glade.

Thranduil let out another long breath. He did not realize that the unburdening of his heart could make him feel this light. He felt light as a leaf to be swept away by the winds. He closed his eyes and inhaled then exhaled. His chest filled with warmth. All the frozen things he carried, the winter in his heart, seemed to melt and fill his chest. He felt as if he could float away.

_Is this what it is like? To feel free of burden?_

He turned to Elrond, then was alarmed to see the tears. Thick, fat tears dripped and flowed down Elrond’s face onto his hands in front of him.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you are not, you idiot!” Elrond wiped away the tears, but they kept coming, flowing down his face like streams. “Because you wouldn’t.”

Thranduil lay down on the young grass and gazed at the moon and the stars. He touched his heart. He didn’t think he could do it, but he did. He thought the abyss under his feet would swallow him when he opened himself like this, but the world did not come to an end. Instead, he felt calm as the forest in twilight when the sky is clear and deep blue as the first stars opened their bright eyes.

Thranduil inhaled the early summer air around him and felt the moonlight envelop him like his mother’s gentle kiss on his brow. When did the moon felt so warm like this? Thranduil reached out a hand toward the moon.

“Thranduil.” Elrond’s voice was soft and barely audible.

And there it was. What he thought was impossible to achieve.

A gentle glow surrounded his hand. It was neither faltering nor faint. And he had not even tried to bring out his light.

Thranduil sat up.

The light was all around him. Taking a long breath, he reached inside and brought out his light. A silvery glow appeared on his hand forming into a ball of light. It was not a brilliant white like Elrond’s. Instead, it glimmered soft and silvery like a piece of moonbeam.

“But the dragon blood. I thought…”

“This light is your light, Thranduil. Nothing that Morgoth or Sauron could do can stop its illumination. No darkness could prevent it.”

Lady Melian said that, too. She said even the darkness of the clouds cannot block out his light, that it would always be there even when he did not feel it, even when he felt he did not deserve it. Had it always been with him?

“Our lights are always within us. We are the only ones who can block it. Only ones who can bring it forward,” Elrond said. He was still crying.

“Stop crying, stupid.”

“You first, idiot.”

It was then that Thranduil noticed that he, too, was crying. Despite the tears falling like summer rain onto his light, it shone with unfaltering clarity.  
  


\-----

 **Lisgaradh** (Sindarin. _Land of Reeds_ )-- Land about the mouths of Sirion where the delta of the River Sirion fell into the sea. This fenland consisted of dense reeds and rushes which grew “man-high”. After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, in FA 473, when the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest ruled by Cirdan were destroyed, he and the remnant of his people established secret havens there. This is where the survivors of Doriath fled in FA 506, followed by the survivors of Gondolin in FA 511.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends the first section of The Gold Rings and Green Woods.
> 
> Next section is Green Woods and it will take place mostly in the Greenwood the Great. But, as I said, I wouldn't be able to return to it until later (in April, most likely). Take care everyone and thank you so much for your interest.


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